A Dragonborn's Tale
by ScribbleWiggy
Summary: We've already seen the end of this story. Perhaps, now, it is time to tell the beginning.
1. A Foreward by the Dragonborn

_Foreward by the Dragonborn:_

_Presently, if asked why I am choosing to share my story now, rather than wait until I am certain that my adventures are over, I will reply that my adventures are over, at least, the ones that people may wish to read about. No one wants to hear about the jobs that I have gone on for the Companions, nor do they wish to read about my attempts to make the people of Skyrim knowledgeable enough to fight dragons on their own. People want to hear about my journey as the Dragonborn, and how I eventually saved all of Tamriel by vanquishing Alduin, the World Eater. That is the tale this writing will tell, from the beginning of my life as the Dragonborn to the end._

_As for the adventures that occur beyond that… I am certain someone else will take it upon themselves to write those as well. For now, this is the story I wish to share with others, and I hope that anyone who has found themselves interested in knowing what occurred will have their curiosity satisfied. Rather than write the story myself, I have elected to have someone else chronicle it for me, in case something happens in which I am unable to complete it. I do not foresee that being likely, but I have always thought it to be better safe than sorry._

_And have no fear; my chronicler knows my story just as well as I do._

_Cry Silverworthy, Harbinger of the Companions, Thane of All Nine Holds of Skyrim, Ysmir and Dragon of the North, Bearer of the Stormcrown, and Dragonborn_


	2. Prologue: Setting the Scene

_Prologue:_

Finding a beginning to a tale such as this one is rather difficult. Knowing that Cry's background is necessary in order to show where she was at the start of her Dragonborn journey, one wonders if they need to include her childhood at the start of this story. Perhaps a simple explanation would be the easiest way of going about it, since the complete tale is long winded, and could fill a book all on its own.

This may not be common knowledge: Cry Silverworthy's real name is Crayla Honeyrunner. She was born to Alvor and Runa Honeyrunner on the 21st of Hearth Fire in the 179th year of the 4th era. Alvor and Runa made their home on a small farm on the plains of Whiterun. Alvor was a general in the Stormcloak Army, which had only recently retaken the city of Markarth from the threat known as the Reachmen. As such, Alvor was often away from home, leaving his wife and his elder daughter, Faisley, to watch over the farm on their own.

By a young age, Crayla was very skilled with a number of weapons, because of her father's close friendship with Galmar Stone-Fist, a knowledgeable warrior who was also a general of the Stormcloak Army. Her sister, Faisley, was betrothed to Ulfric Stormcloak, the young general of the army. As such, when Madanach, the king of the Reachmen, was thrown into prison at the behest of her father, and subsequently sent out the command that Alvor was to pay for Madanach's imprisonment, Faisley asked Ulfric for help in protecting her family.

The help arrived too late, and Alvor and Runa were taken prisoner by the Reachmen late one evening in order to protect their daughters. When they were recovered from a Forsworn camp by a contingent of Stormcloaks and returned to the two girls, mutilated, Crayla vowed to avenge her parents by slaying every Forsworn that she could find. By 4E 191, Crayla had left her home in Whiterun for the Reach, and she spent the next three years stalking Forsworn camps, and killing all their inhabitants. By the middle of 4E 194, however, her identity was discovered by Madanach, who called for her death. Crayla was forced to flee Skyrim at the age of fifteen, and she went to Morrowind, where she would spend seven years of her life.

At the age of 22, she elected to return home to Skyrim under a new name, believing to be safe from the Forsworn threat. Her first night on her homeland is where we will begin our tale of the Dragonborn.


	3. Chapter 1: Home

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story, but hope to finish this summer. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I'm taking liberties, so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

It had been years since she'd seen snow. As her ship approached the docks of Windhelm, Crayla Honeyrunner, renamed Cry Silverworthy seven years prior, stuck out her tongue and caught a snowflake on it. She smiled happily as more drifted against her cheeks and forehead, and then she focused once more on the shore. Within minutes, she would be standing on her homeland for the first time in seven years.

"Miss, I'll need you to step away from the railing while we dock," a sailor said to her, and Cry backed away from the railing submissively. The ship steered towards one of the open decks, and glided through the icy water up next to it.

Cry was the first to disembark once the gangplank was laid down onto the deck. Making sure to hold her knapsack, which carried everything she owned, snugly to her shoulder, Cry made it to the end of the dock and glanced around. She inhaled the cold air, and bent down to scoop up some snow into her hand. She smiled at it, grinning to herself, and then tossed it into the air. It fluttered down to the ground around her, and she set her shoulders, turning towards the walls of Windhelm.

She started for the city gates, passing by the stable as she went. She waved to the stable master, who returned it, grinning happily. Cry grinned back, feeling nothing but excitement. She was home.

She made her way into Windhelm, and glanced around. She'd only been here once before, with her father on a trip to visit Galmar and Ulfric. She could barely remember the experience, having only been five at the time, but she recognized the city's Candlehearth Inn, and she heard the sounds of the marketplace to her left. In the distance, she could make out the Palace of the Kings, which was her destination.

She walked through the city, and couldn't help but notice the high number of beggars on the streets. All of them looked sick, and most were of a different race than Nord. She frowned to herself as she passed by a particularly skinny dark elf, and she determined to speak with Ulfric about them as soon as she could.

Reaching the Palace, she was brought to a halt by a guard, who wore the distinctive Stormcloak colors. She couldn't see his face, because of his helmet, but she looked at where she thought his eyes were, anyhow.

"I'm here to see Jarl Ulfric," she told the guard. "Or Galmar Stone-Fist. They both know who I am."

"Your name, then?" the guard asked, sounding suspicious.

"Cry Silverworthy."

The guard straightened his shoulders. "Fine," he said, shortly. "Follow me."

He pushed his way into the Palace, and Cry went after him. The inside was warm, and lit by sconces despite the light coming in through the windows high up on the walls. It looked just as she remembered it, with the long table in the middle of the hall, and the jarl's throne at the very end. Seated in the throne, she saw as she followed the guard to it, was Ulfric Stormcloak, whose eyes brightened with recognition as soon as he caught sight of her.

"My Jarl," the guard began, bowing slightly. "A Cry Silverworthy. Says you know her."

"I do," Ulfric responded, starting to climb down from the throne. "Thank you."

The guard shuffled off, and Ulfric came to a pause a few steps away from Cry, who smiled at him.

"Hello, Ulfric," she greeted, and then she bowed as well. "It's good to see you again."

"It is good to see _you_," he said, "and looking well."

Cry's smile widened. "I've done my best to keep myself fed," she told him, "although… some of what I did you might frown upon, so it might be best if I don't tell you much about my time in Morrowind."

"Perhaps at a later date, when I am not on court duty," Ulfric replied with a grin of his own.

"Is Faisley here?" Cry asked him, and he shook his head.

"She's been in Falkreath for several weeks now, overseeing our encampment there," he responded, and Cry lost her smile.

"Right," she said, quietly. "The war."

A civil war had broken out across Skyrim several years ago. Faisley had written to her about Ulfric's imprisonment and then escape from Solitude, and how he'd battled the High King for the throne. Ulfric had won, but High King Torygg had died in the fight, giving the Empire cause to believe that Ulfric had not won fairly. As such, there was now a disagreement as to who should hold the throne: Ulfric, or Torygg's wife Elisif, Jarl of Solitude. This disagreement merely added on to the fact that the Stormcloaks, Ulfric's army, disagreed with the ban on Talos worship, which had been put into place at the end of the Great War. The civil war had been going strong ever since.

Ulfric was nodding. "We haven't made much progress," he said, regrettably. "We have the support of only four of the holds, one of them being my own. We're currently fighting for control of the other five, but…" He shrugged, in a very un-jarl-like way. "We're doing our best."

"And Galmar?"

"I sent him to make sure that the Imperials pose no threat to Riften," Ulfric responded. "He should be back by tomorrow."

_Tomorrow_. Cry frowned slightly, and Ulfric tilted his head. "What's the problem? Did you plan on leaving Windhelm so soon?" he asked her, and she nodded.

"I want to go to Whiterun," she explained. "I know that there's nothing left for me, there, but I'd like to start something, if I can."

"Ah," Ulfric said in understanding. "Well, if you don't mind waiting one more day, I planned on take a regiment over to Falkreath to help reinforce Faisley's forces. You could travel with us?"

Cry's expression brightened. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not," Ulfric answered with a smile. "You can go all the way to Falkreath with us, if you like, to see your sister. I'm sure she'd be glad to see that you made it back to Skyrim in one piece."

Cry chuckled. "I'll send her a letter," she said. "I wouldn't want to interrupt her war efforts with a visit."

"I doubt she'd mind, but it is your choice, of course." Ulfric glanced upwards. "It wouldn't be a bad thing to stop at Whiterun for a brief visit with Jarl Balgruuf, actually. He seems determined to remain neutral in the war, but Whiterun's central location would be crucial to have."

"I'm sure," Cry agreed, and then she adjusted her knapsack. "So, should I go get a room at the inn, or -?"

"Why would you do that?" Ulfric asked, frowning. "You'll stay here."

Cry was relieved, and it must have showed, because Ulfric laughed. "A little loose on coin?"

"Just a bit," Cry replied, glancing down at the floor. "It's not a big deal. I'll find a job to do soon enough."

"I'm sure you will," he said with a nod, and then his expression changed. "I don't believe I was ever able to offer you my sympathies for what happened to your parents."

Cry shook her head in response to this. "It doesn't matter," she told him. "I… I did my best to avenge them, and I think I managed to do so." She frowned. "The only thing that bothers me is that Madanach still lives."

Ulfric nodded in understanding. "Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about that," he said. "We should have killed him while we had him in custody, but your father insisted we imprison him instead."

"He was too merciful," Cry murmured, "and it cost him his life, and Mother's."

The two of them fell silent for a moment, and then Ulfric exhaled. "Well," he began, looking at her, "I suppose I'll find you someone to show you to a room -"

"I think I can find one on my own, if you don't mind," Cry answered, hiking her knapsack higher onto her shoulder. "I sort of want to settle in by myself."

Ulfric seemed to understand, because he dipped his head. "As you wish." He gestured towards the stairwell built into the wall. "Just up there."

Cry headed that way, up the stairs and into the first vacant bedchamber that she found. She dumped her knapsack onto the bed, and then she walked over to the window and gazed out it. It showed out into a part of Windhelm that she'd never been to before, and she frowned to herself at the looks of it.

It seemed that Windhelm's jarl had been so focused on the war that he'd started to neglect his city. That wasn't any good. Cry would need to speak to him about it, and soon.

She returned to the main hall for dinner, at Ulfric's request, and found him in a small room off to the side, eating alone. He looked up at her arrival, turning his gaze away from a large map that was spread across a table in the middle of the room.

"Settled in?" he asked, and Cry nodded, joining him near the table. She eyed the small number of blue flags relative to the number of red ones. Ulfric followed her gaze, and exhaled a breath. "Yes, it's different to see a visual, isn't it?"

"Slightly," Cry replied, and then she looked at him. "Ulfric, I - walking through the city, I noticed that the homeless population is… very high."

Ulfric's eyes turned in a different direction. "Yes," he said again. "Many citizens of Skyrim have found their way to Windhelm, seeking refuge from the war."

"You've done what you can to help them, I'm sure," Cry said quickly. "Just - I don't know. They all look to be starving. Surely there must be a way to feed them."

"Unfortunately, my lady," Ulfric said, "when you are busy funding a war, it is difficult to find spare coin to suit the needs of a group of people you never intended to have to deal with."

Cry frowned. "If you were to help them, show that you card about matters like that, don't you think it's possible that more people would be persuaded to join you in the fight?" she suggested, and Ulfric sighed outwards. Cry immediately backpedaled. "It is only a thought, of course."

"A smart one," Ulfric assured her. "Just… one that doesn't seem feasible, at this current moment in time." He nodded toward a tray of food that sat on a different table. "Have something to eat."

Cry remained where she was for a moment, trying to figure out a better way of convincing him to help the homeless, but found that she could not come up with one herself. Sighing, she moved to the table, and poked through the food on the tray for a moment.

"Perhaps what you need is a sponsor," she finally said, and Ulfric snorted derisively.

"Who would support my cause?" he asked her. "One of the elvish lords that signed the White-Gold Concordat?" He shook his head. "This is my war, and I fight it alone."

Cry inhaled, but left the topic alone. Ulfric was stubborn, as were all Nords. Getting into an argument with him now about the best way to conduct his war was not something Cry wanted to do, being a Nord herself. Still, she had to suppose that there were better ways of going about it all, ways that still allowed for him to remember his duties as a jarl, his duties to Windhelm. After all, shouldn't Windhelm come first, if he didn't want a mutiny spreading within his own city?

"How did you manage to keep yourself alive in Morrowind?" Ulfric asked, drawing her attention back to him. He'd sat down in a chair, holding a mug of mead. "Surely there were plenty there who did not take kindly to a Nord in their homelands."

Cry pursed her lips for a moment. "Actually, the elves of Morrowind were all very kind to me," she said. "More than once, a family would offer me their home for an evening, so that I would have someplace to rest my head, some food in my belly. They only asked that I help them with work around the house, or with their crops." She leaned back against the table, crossing her arms with a shrug. "I never felt as though they resented my presence."

From the look on Ulfric's face, she could tell that something she'd said had hit close to home, and she decided it was probably best if she took her leave. So, she bowed to him, and said, "Thank you again for letting me stay here, my Jarl. I will see you tomorrow."

She exited the room, and headed for the stairs to return to the room she'd claimed for the night, hoping that Ulfric hadn't taken too much offense to what she'd said. She definitely didn't need Ulfric to resent her already, when she'd been back for barely more than a day, and especially not when she still had plans to travel with him halfway across Skyrim.

She frowned to herself, as she dressed for bed. Maybe she needed practice thinking, before she spoke.

* * *

The following day, Cry walked down to the throne room just after mid-morning, yawning widely. She started to blink the blurriness out of her eyes, only to be scooped up into a tight grasp. She yelped, struggling to escape it, and received a hearty chuckle in response. Immediately, she scowled, and stopped struggling.

"Put me down, Galmar," she ordered, and her father's oldest friend dropped her back to the floor. She turned around to face him, and narrowed her eyes as she took him in.

"You look just like your mother when you do that," he said, grinning, and immediately, Cry's scowl faded, and she grinned back.

"How are you?" she asked, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Can't complain. Annoyed, though."

"About what?" Cry queried, and Galmar gestured towards where Ulfric stood, speaking with a blond Stormcloak.

"He said that I have to stay here," the old bear explained. "Said that I need to watch over the city while he's gone."

Cry tilted her head, and eyebrow raising. "Don't you want to stay here? You just got back from Riften, didn't you?"

"Aye," Galmar replied, "but I'd rather travel than sit in this stuffy old castle." He sniffed disdainfully, and looked at her again. "So, how was your time in Morrowind?"

"Not bad," Cry said, shrugging her shoulders.

Galmar waited for more, but she didn't give him any. He eyed her closely, and said, "That's all? Just 'not bad'?"

"Well, what more do you want me to say?" Cry questioned, frowning at him. "I don't have anything exciting to tell you, unless you want to hear about the rich caravan that I robbed when they were stopped by a contingent of Thalmor that searched their carriages."

"Did they find anything?" Galmar asked her, and Cry shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't hang around long enough to stay and watch; just grabbed whatever I could from the saddlebags on the horses and ran." She glanced around the great hall for a moment. "Now that I think about it, though, one of the caravans did have the sign of Talos on the side of it." She shook her head to herself. "The amount of Talos worshippers hiding out there is incredible."

"Elves worshipping Talos?" Galmar looked uncertain. "That's unheard of."

"I guess they do it because they can," Cry said with a shrug, and then she looked at Ulfric. He had finished speaking with the soldier, and started towards them, looking ready to head out. "I guess we'll be leaving soon."

"You're right," Ulfric said, pausing beside them. "I'd like to reach Whiterun by tomorrow morning, and the only way we'll be doing that is if we leave right now." He looked at Galmar. "I hope you aren't too angry that I'm not allowing you to come with us."

"More annoyed than anything else," Galmar replied good naturedly. He grinned. "I know someone needs to stick around to make sure the Imperials don't move into Eastmarch while you're gone."

"That's exactly it," Ulfric said, smiling back at him. "Thank you, Galmar." He then looked at Cry. "Are you ready to leave?"

"I'm always ready," Cry answered at once, grateful that he didn't seem to want to bring up their discussion from the night before. "I just need to go upstairs to get my knapsack."

"Then do it, and meet us by the barracks," Ulfric said, heading for the room that they'd spoken in, probably to do a final sweep of the map, to ensure that the route they planned to take would not lead them straight into any Imperials.

Once he was out of earshot, Galmar turned back to Cry. "You're going too?" he asked, sounding a bit disheartened. No doubt he'd wanted her to stick around for awhile, keep him company.

"I want to get to Whiterun," Cry explained. "I don't know what I'm going to do there, yet, but… I'm sure something will present itself."

"I appreciate that optimism," Galmar said, and then he reached out to ruffle her hair. Cry ducked away immediately, almost from bodily memory. It was an interaction the two of them had shared since she had been a child. "What are you calling yourself nowadays, again?"

"Cry Silverworthy," Cry told him, proudly, and Galmar rolled his eyes upwards.

"It could be worse," he decided, and she whacked his arm. He laughed, and nodded towards the stairs. "Get moving, or the regiment will leave without you."

Cry nodded and hurried up the stairs to the bedchamber she'd slept in the night prior. She grabbed her knapsack, slung it over her shoulder, and then hurried back down the stairs.

"Bye, Galmar!" she called as she raced past him towards the doors of the Palace. Galmar smiled fondly to himself, watching her go.

"Goodbye, little warrior," he said, "and good luck."


	4. Chapter 2: Helgen

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story, but hope to finish this summer. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

"So, Cry, you're from Whiterun?"

Cry looked over at Ralof. He was the young blond Stormcloak that Ulfric had been speaking with prior to their departure from Windhelm. The group of soldiers and Cry had been on the road for quite some time, and the sun was beginning to set. As they were riding that same direction, it shone directly into their eyes, which Cry could have done without.

She nodded in response to Ralof's question, squinting one eye in order to see him properly. "I am. I'd been traveling in Morrowind for a while, however, and I just returned to Skyrim yesterday."

"Impressive," Ralof said, grinning. "You're… what? Twenty-one?"

"Twenty-two, actually, but good guess," Cry answered with a laugh. "Ulfric's father and mine were very good friends a long time ago: Ulfric's known me since I was born."

"That's a good connection to have," Ralof commented. He kicked a rock off to the edge of the road. "If all else fails, you can enlist in the Stormcloaks."

Cry shook her head. "Not really wanting to be part of the soldier lifestyle," she told him. "I'm more of a wanderer, you know?"

Ralof nodded in agreement. "We all have a preference." He glanced up at the sky. "So… you're going to look for work in Whiterun?"

"That's the plan," Cry replied. "I would go back to my family's farm, but my sister sold it when she left to join the Stormcloaks."

"You have a sister in the army?" Cry nodded, and Ralof tilted his head. "What's her name?"

"Faisley."

Ralof frowned, slightly. "Different last names. That's… rare."

"There's a long story behind it," Cry said, turning her gaze forward again. "I don't really want to get into it."

"Fair enough," Ralof said. "I don't mean to pry, but we do have a long walk ahead of us, so I wouldn't mind a long story." He glanced sideways at her. "If you don't want to share, however, I won't ask you to."

"Let's just say I had reason to change my name, because of something I did, and leave it at that," Cry stated. "I didn't do anything bad, necessarily, but… a lot of people want the woman with my old name dead, so… I figured a new identity would be the smartest route to go."

Ralof raised an eyebrow. "A large group of people want you dead, huh? Sounds like the Imperials, talking about Ulfric." He nodded towards where the jarl was riding at the head of the Stormcloaks on the back of a big black horse. "They'd do anything to bring him down."

"They're scared of him, and of how much support he has," Cry explained. "I don't think they expected the war to go on this long; they probably thought he'd eventually lose his followers to something or other." _Like the fact that he isn't even properly taking care of the people in his city._

"Well, it's hard to lose support when you're in the right," Ralof said.

Cry chose not to respond. She respected Talos as much as the next Nord, but she'd never really worshipped any Divine, so not being able to worship him hadn't caused her any problems. And, despite how close she was with Ulfric and Galmar, and despite the fact that her sister was a general of the Stormcloak Army, she didn't know if she supported their cause; as far as she knew, neither side really had the right of it, considering the Imperials shouldn't have control over a country that's across an ocean of water from them, but the Stormcloaks shouldn't be trying so hard to kick the Imperials, and other races, out of Skyrim all together.

She didn't know. For now, until she heard more about the war from another neutral source, she'd be staying neutral as well.

Still, that didn't mean she wasn't grateful to be traveling with Ulfric and his soldiers. Since she didn't have a weapon, she was defenseless, and if she had been on her own, she probably would be dead within the hour.

Being weaponless had not been a choice she'd made willingly. The people of Morrowind, she'd found, had been a lot less likely to show her kindness if she'd approached their farms with a sword at her hip, and so she'd ditched it, once she'd realized that there was really no need for it, so long as she stayed away from main roads while she was traveling. She wished that she'd managed to obtain a weapon, before returning to Skyrim, but she supposed she'd find one eventually.

All that aside, she was glad for the company, even if that company was a group of soldiers that were part of an army in a war that she didn't support. And, so far, she was enjoying speaking with Ralof. He seemed very intelligent, and kind as well. It'd been a long time since she'd been able to hold friendly conversation with someone other than the friend she'd made in a stray dog in Morrowind. The families she'd stayed with hadn't been much for talk; it was all about work, for them.

"What about you?" she started, glancing at Ralof. "Where are you from?"

"Whiterun as well," he responded, smiling slightly. "My parents are dead, but my sister Gerdur and her husband run the mill in a small town called Riverwood. You've probably never heard of it."

"I have, actually," Cry told him. "My father used to go there when he didn't feel like making the trip into Whiterun for supplies. Riverwood was only an hour's ride away from our farm."

"Ah." Ralof kicked at another rock. "I grew up in Riverwood; my father owned the mill, and when he died, it passed on to me. I don't exactly have a head for business, though, so I became a soldier, and left the mill to my sister. She's handling it well, I think, but she would, considering it's the only one in Whiterun Hold."

"That would help business," Cry said, smiling. "I never really wanted to take over the farm, so in a way I'm glad my sister sold it. Now I can do whatever it is I decide I want to do without having to worry about it."

"And what is it that you want to do?" Ralof asked her, and Cry lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

"I don't know yet." She glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with orange and red, layered beneath a dark purple that always showed with the start of night. Gods, she'd missed Skyrim. "Something will present itself, though. I can feel it."

Ralof looked around. "It seems we're getting closer to the border," he said. "I recognize these woods."

Cry turned her attention towards the surrounding trees as well. "Yes," she agreed after a moment, a familiar chill running up her spine, "so do I." She glanced over her shoulder, frowning to herself.

Ralof turned that direction. "What is it?" he questioned, glancing at her.

"I don't know," she said, quietly. She rubbed her upper arm, and looked at him. "I sort of feel like we're being watched."

Ralof frowned, and glanced into the trees on the other side of the road. "I think you might be right," he agreed, just as softly. He started to push his way forward through the Stormcloaks to reach Ulfric, but before he could get very far, someone yelled out an attack command. Suddenly, the Stormcloaks were surrounded by Imperials, whose blades flashed dangerously in the dying sunlight.

Cry ducked under a sword that came swinging her way, and she stuck out a foot in order to trip the soldier that had attacked her. He fell to the ground with a grunt, and she tried to kick his sword from his hand, and away from him, so that she could pick it up herself. The Imperial grabbed her by the ankle, however, and yanked her foot out from beneath her.

Cry yelped as she fell to the ground, and her head knocked against the cobblestone path. Her vision blurred, and she saw double as the soldier scrambled to his feet again. Before she could gather her senses enough to react, he sent a swift kick into her stomach, and she gagged, curling into a ball to save herself from more damage.

Squeezing her eyes shut and gripping at her belly, she struggled to crawl away from the soldier, away from the sounds of fighting. From what she could hear, it seemed that the Stormcloaks were fighting a losing battle, which was actually pretty metaphorical, if she allowed herself to think about it.

She didn't have much time to get away. The Imperial followed after her, and he grabbed her by her hair, which was in the braid she usually put it in. He yanked her backwards, and Cry yelped in pain, but didn't struggle, knowing that he'd merely keep pulling until she submitted. She figured that there was no point; the fight was lost.

She remained conscious long enough to see the Imperial drag her towards the Stormcloaks again. Some of them had kept their feet, but most were on the ground, semi-conscious or out cold. Ralof was one of them. Cry feigned being out as well, and the Imperial tossed her into the middle of the circle that the soldiers had formed around the rebels.

"Well, well, well." She opened one eye long enough to see what looked like an Imperial captain approach Ulfric, who was still standing. Ulfric had a cut over one eye, and blood dripped down his face, but he glared defiantly at the captain nonetheless. "Look at how lucky we got, boys," the captain said to her soldiers. "Ulfric Stormcloak, bruised and battered, and ready to be delivered to General Tullius."

The other Imperials chuckled, and the captain leered up into Ulfric's face. "What do you plan on doing to get out of this, Stormcloak?" she inquired dryly. "Are you going to Shout me to death, too? Or is that something you reserve for innocent High Kings?"

Cry couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd known that Ulfric had lived with the Greybeards on High Hrothgar for some time as a child, and that they'd supposedly taught him how to use his Thu'um, turn his inner voice into a weapon, but she hadn't actually believed it. Now, she was hearing that Ulfric had killed Torygg with his _Voice_? Was that true? Faisley had said it had been an accident, in her letters.

Ulfric didn't offer a response to the captain, however, and so Cry didn't receive an answer. The Imperial captain snorted to herself.

"Some Voice," she said, glaring at the Jarl of Windhelm. "Tie them up, and muzzle this one, just in case he decides to prove the rumors true." She scowled slightly. "Better to be safe than sorry."

Cry was tossed around as one Imperial tied rope tightly around her wrists, and another pushed her into a carriage that appeared from the woods, a third Imperial at the reigns. They must have been expecting this Stormcloak group to travel this direction, she thought to herself, because they were extremely prepared. Obviously, however, they hadn't been expecting Ulfric Stormcloak to be traveling with them, so perhaps they'd simply gotten lucky?

Cry supposed she'd never know.

Ralof and Ulfric were put into the same carriage as she was. Ralof was stirring, slightly, and Ulfric's eyes were hard above the rag the Imperials had tied around his mouth. Cry met his gaze, and he rolled his eyes upwards in exasperation.

Cry felt tempted to grin in response, but before she could, a fourth passenger had been pushed into the carriage as well. This one very clearly didn't belong to the Stormcloaks; he was dressed in rags, and had been knocked out. Cry didn't know where he'd come from, but it didn't matter; they were all prisoners of the Imperials, now, Stormcloak soldier or not.

And they were all going to receive the same punishment, whatever that ended up being.

* * *

That night, the Stormcloaks were left to sleep upright in the carriages, while the Imperials made camp within the trees on the side of the road. A few Stormcloaks attempted to escape, but each one was shot or cut down by guards, and so Cry remained where she was.

Eventually, as the sun began to rise, she dozed off, and only woke up again when their carriage hit a rut in the road, and jostled her awake. She blinked her eyes open to see that they were moving. Ralof was awake, and so was Ulfric. His attention was turned to the bottom of the carriage. The fourth prisoner in their cart was awake as well, although not nearly as calm as Ralof was.

"I can't believe we walked right into an ambush," Ralof muttered to himself, and he glanced at the fourth prisoner. "What were you doing?"

"What does it matter?" he responded sourly. "Skyrim was just fine until you damn Stormcloaks came along; the Empire was nice and lazy. If you hadn't shown up when you did, I would've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," Ralof informed him.

"Shut up back there," the driver of the carriage said over his shoulder.

The thief glanced at Ulfric Stormcloak. "What's wrong with him?"

"Watch your tongue!" Ralof said sharply. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"Ulfric Stormcloak?" The thief's eyes went wide. "But… if they've captured you… oh, Gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going," Ralof responded, his voice growing soft again, "but Sovngarde awaits."

"No, this isn't happening," the thief mumbled, and then, louder, "this can't be happening!"

"Hey," Ralof started, glancing at him, "what village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" the thief demanded.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," Ralof replied.

There was silence for a moment, and then the thief murmured, "Rorikstead. I'm… I'm from Rorikstead."

Cry turned her attention towards the front of the carriage, and was surprised to see that they'd reached a small town's gates. The town was clearly under Imperial control, because soldiers lined the tops of the gates, and, as their carriage passed through it, the Imperial captain that had picked on Ulfric the night before rode forward on her horse towards another Imperial soldier, and a high elf, who, from her robes, Cry guessed to be part of the Thalmor.

"General Tullius, sir!" the captain called. "The headsman is waiting."

"Good," the second Imperial, General Tullius, apparently, responded. "Let's get this over with."

The thief was praying frantically, and Ralof was scowling at the elf that was astride the horse alongside Tullius's. "Damn elves," he grumbled. "I bet the Thalmor had something to do with our capture. Must've had a scout inside of Windhelm or something." He looked at Cry. "This is Helgen."

She nodded in agreement, and he exhaled a breath. "I used to be sweet on a girl from her. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries in it." He let out a dry chuckle. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

Their carriage passed through the town along the dirt path, and Cry saw a father and son standing on the porch of a house. The boy glanced up at his father, clearly asking a question, and his father responded by sending the boy into the house.

Their carriage pulled up short at the city wall, the Imperial driving it tugging on the reigns with a "Whoa."

The Imperial captain stalked up and down the line of carriages that had come to a stop, barking orders. "Get these prisoners out of these carts! Move it!"

"Why did we stop?" the thief asked, panicked, and Ralof glanced sideways at him.

"Why do you think? End of the line." The thief's eyes widened even further, if that was possible, and Ralof rose to his feet. "Let's go," he said. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"But wait! I'm not a rebel!" the thief shouted, hopping out of the cart behind Ulfric. "I don't deserve to be here."

"Why don't you face your death with some courage, thief?" Ralof suggested, dryly.

"But tell them! I wasn't with you. This is a mistake!" the thief insisted, looking for the closest Imperial soldier.

"Step towards the block when we call your name," the Imperial captain said, ignoring the thief's cries, "one at a time!'

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," another Imperial soldier said, reading off a parchment. Cry was surprised to see this soldier was a Nord.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said as Ulfric left their small group for the line of soldiers already standing near the headsman's block.

"Ralof of Riverwood." Ralof winked at Cry, offering her a sad smile, and he walked off as well. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No," the thief decided, taking a small step back. "I'm not a rebel. You can't do this." With that, he turned and ran off, back in the direction the carriages had come from.

"Archers!" the Imperial captain shouted, and almost immediately, the thief fell with a dull thud to the ground. Three arrows stuck up out of his back. The captain turned to look at the prisoners who remained before her, their names uncalled. "Anyone else feel like running?"

Cry glanced at her new companions. One was a Nord woman, older than her by quite a few years, who had dark hair and looked as though she wanted to sink into the ground and disappear from view. The other was an Imperial, who also had dark hair, and an easygoing expression. He gazed at the two Imperials ahead of him, head tilted inquisitively.

"These three aren't on the list, Captain," the Nord Imperial soldier said, and the captain waved her hand at them.

"So take their names, and send them to the block!" she retorted, and then she stalked off to speak with General Tullius.

The Imperial soldier exhaled a breath, and turned back to them. "Your name, please," he said to the Imperial, who grinned sweetly at him.

"Why?" he asked. "Do you plan on giving us headstones?"

Cry smiled to herself as the other Nord woman rolled her eyes and stepped forward. "His name is Hainin Marshal," she started, and the soldier glanced at her. Her shoulders raised and lowered in a sigh. "I'm Ziris Coldwater."

"Right." The soldier made a mark on his parchment, and then turned to look at Cry. "Who are you?"

"Cry Silverworthy," she answered, glancing down at the ground. She heard him scribble down her name as well.

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman," he said, and she bobbed her head in agreement.

"I've realized."

"I'm sorry about this," he said to them all. "Truly, I am. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Hainin opened his mouth to respond, but then seemed to change his mind, and turned and marched towards the line of Stormcloaks instead. Ziris and Cry followed after him.

Cry determined that she was probably not going to get out of this alive, and decided to submit to whatever happened next without complaint. She figured it was better than putting up a fight, which Ziris seemed to be considering, from the way her eyes darted around, clearly searching for something that would aid in her escape.

Cry decided to let her do that, and faced the front, watching the show that the Imperials were making of this whole thing. General Tullius had walked up to Ulfric, and stood gazing steadily at him.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero," he began, "but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric grunted out something that Cry imagined was a curse, but Tullius ignored it. "You started this war!" the Imperial exclaimed. "Plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now I'm going to put you down, and restore the peace."

He turned towards the captain, but before he could give a command, a strange sound echoed off of the mountains around them, amplified in the small courtyard. The Nord Imperial soldier glanced around.

"What was that?" he asked, frowning.

"Nothing," Tullius decided. "Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" The captain turned at once towards the priestess that was standing nearby. "Give them their last rites."

The priestess raised her arms. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the a Eight Divines upon you -"

"For the love of Talos…" A red haired Stormcloak stalked forward. "Shut up, and let's get this over with."

The priestess frowned at him, and the captain glared, but gestured towards the block. "As you wish."

The Stormcloak walked up to the headsman's block. "Come on, I haven't got all morning," he said shortly. The captain pushed him down to a crouch in front of it, and used her boot to kick his neck onto the block."My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" the Stormcloak asked.

The headsman, who was dressed in dark clothing and a black hood, raised his two-handed axe and brought it down heavily onto the Stormcloak's neck. Cry felt Ziris flinch beside her as head separated from body, and fell into the basket in front of the block.

"Ooh, gruesome," Hainin said from the other side of Ziris.

"As fearless in death, as he was in life," Ralof murmured from where he stood next to Cry.

"Next, the Imperial in the mismatched armor!" the captain said, gesturing to Hainin, who blinked in surprise.

The same sound from before reached them again, louder this time. Cry thought she recognized it as a roar, but it didn't sound like a bear or a sabrecat. What other beast could it belong to, however?

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" the Nord Imperial asked, looking at General Tullius.

"I said, next prisoner!" the captain growled, turning her glare to Hainin.

He seemed taken aback. "What? Me? Why not one of these Stormcloaks, or her?"

Ziris shot him a glare as he nudged her forward with his shoulder. "Bastard," she grumbled. "I don't want to die today, either." She gestured with her head towards Hainin. "_He's_ the murderer."

"Hey!" Hainin exclaimed. "It was an act of defense!"

"Sure it was," Ziris responded, rolling her eyes.

"Listen, lady -"

"For the love of the Gods, _I'll_ go next," Cry put in, beginning to lose her patience. She walked forward towards the block, and crouched down next to it without the assistance of a boot on her back. Closing her eyes, she laid her neck on the block, and said to the headsman, "Make it nice and quick, okay? Thanks."

She waited for the bite of cold steel, but instead, she only heard the roaring sound once again, even louder. She thought she heard the sound of heavy wings flapping as something flew across the sky overhead, but she wasn't positive she'd heard anything at all until a soldier exclaimed, "What in Oblivion is that?"

"Sentries, what do you see?" the captain shouted.

"It's in the clouds!" someone called back.

That was when Cry elected to open her eyes, and they went wide as something big and black landed on the top of the tower behind the headsman. It seemed to glare down at her with its bright red eyes, and she heard the priestess give it a name in a shriek of panic: "Dragon!"


	5. Chapter 3: Escape

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

The dragon released a roar, and the headsman stumbled over. Cry herself went rolling off the block, dizzy from the force of the roar, and she struggled to find her feet. She heard a voice calling her name, and she blinked as someone grabbed her arm and helped her stand. She managed to focus, and found Ralof shouting in her face.

"The Gods aren't going to give us another chance! Move!" He pushed her in the direction of the tower, and Cry stumbled towards it. As soon as she and Ralof were inside, the door closed behind them, and she glanced around, seeing that other soldiers were inside as well, including Ulfric.

"Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof began, panting. "What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric let out a breath. "Legends don't burn down villages." He looked around at his soldiers. "We need to move, now!"

"Up through the tower," Ralof suggested, starting towards the stairs. "Let's go!"

He grabbed Cry and pushed her ahead of him. She tripped up them, and as she reached the top, the wall burst inwards, throwing her off her feet again. She felt the heat of dragon fire as it roared into the tower, and she blinked as she saw it reach the wounded soldier that had been laying on the ground below. Before she could register the screams, and smell of burning flesh, Ralof yanked her upright.

"Jump to the inn on the other side!" he ordered, shouting above the sound of roaring flames and shrieks of pain and panic from the townspeople. "We'll be right behind you!"

Cry did as he ordered, and jumped blindly through the smoke to the inn. She pushed her way through burning rubble to the ground floor, and then outside of the inn, where she found the Nord Imperial soldier helping a few townspeople and an older soldier. Cry recognized the boy from before, crouching beside his injured father.

"Haming, you need to get over here!" the Nord shouted, and the boy retreated backwards from his father towards the two soldiers. "Torolf!" The Imperial started forward, but the dragon landed only a few yards away, and blew fire directly onto the injured man. The soldier staggered backwards, right into Cry, and started, looking around at her.

"Still alive, prisoner? Stick close to me if you want to stay that way." Cry nodded, and then the soldier looked at his companion. "Gunnar! Keep an eye on the boy. I need to find General Tullius and join the defense."

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," Gunnar responded, and the soldier, Hadvar, moved forward into the smoke.

"Stay close to the wall!" he called to Cry, who pressed herself against it just as the dragon landed on top of it, and blew fire into the already burning building next to them. When he had gone, Hadvar gestured her forward, and Cry kept going. They passed General Tullius, who was currently directing archers as they fired arrows into the dragon.

"Hadvar!" he called to the soldier. "Into the keep! We're leaving!"

Someone screamed, and Cry halted as an Imperial soldier thudded heavily to the ground directly in front of her. She only kept moving when Hadvar tugged on her arm to make her. "Come on!" he exclaimed, and she went.

They approached what Tullius had called the keep, and Cry was relieved to see Ralof run up to it as well. The two Nords paused momentarily, and glared at one another.

"Ralof, you damned traitor!" Hadvar spat. "Out of my way!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar," Ralof retorted. "You're not stopping us this time."

"Fine!" Hadvar exclaimed. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

With that, the moment passed, and the two ran past one another, entering the keep at different locations, and both calling for Cry to follow them. She didn't have to think twice before racing after Ralof, who slammed the door to the keep's tower closed behind her.

Cry bent over, coughing from smoke inhalation, and Ralof approached her with a heavy exhalation. He began to speak to her, but his eyes drifted past her, and widened. He hurried forward, and Cry turned to see him crouch beside the body of a Stormcloak soldier.

"We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother," he said, quietly, and then he rose to his full height once more and looked at her. "It looks like we're the only ones that made it."

"Do you think -?"

"No, I'm sure not everyone is dead," he responded. "They'll have found another way out of the city. For right now, however, we should worry about ourselves." He gestured her forward. "Come here, let me see if I can get your bindings off."

Cry, who'd completely forgotten her hands were tied together in all the confusion, glanced downwards, and felt surprise at seeing rope tied around her wrists. She took a step towards him, and Ralof sliced through the rope easily with a dagger he had.

"There you go." He nodded towards the dead Stormcloak. "Go ahead and take his gear; he won't be needing it."

Cry blinked, and then shook her head, taking a step backwards. "I couldn't," she said, and Ralof looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Why not? You need it more than he does."

"I just… it wouldn't fit me, anyway," Cry stammered, and Ralof shrugged.

"It's your choice," he said, "but if you die, you'll have no one to blame but yourself."

Cry nodded in acceptance. "I can deal with that." She then gestured towards the axe that lay beside Gunnar's body. "I'll take that, though."

"Good idea," Ralof said. Cry bent down to retrieve it. She held it in both hands for a moment, before switching it to her right, and giving it a few swings. It had been a couple of years since she'd had a chance to wield a weapon; it would take some getting used to. With a sword, it probably would have been different, but she hadn't had as much practice with a hand axe.

Ralof exhaled. "That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories, and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times."

Cry gave the axe a few more swings. "It was," she agreed, "but… what do you think it means?"

"I don't know," Ralof answered after a moment's thought, "but I do know that I want to get out of here. Come on."

He started towards one of the entrances on the edges of the room, and started. "Imperials!" he hissed, ducking off to the side of the door. Cry hurried to stand on the other, crouching down, axe brandished. Indeed, she heard the sound of footsteps, and then a familiar voice, barking a command.

"Get this gate open!"

Before Cry could really register what was happening, the gate was lowering, and the Imperial captain was entering the room, a foot soldier behind her. Ralof jumped at both, swinging an axe of his own, and Cry panicked. She hadn't killed anyone since even before she'd last wielded a weapon.

Thankfully, the foot soldier was the one to approach her, sword out. Cry steadied her stance. All of her training, both with her father and Galmar, came rushing back to her. On muscle memory, she swung at the Imperial. The axe made contact, and its blade sliced easily through the front of the Imperial's armor. The man slumped to the floor with a groan, blood pouring from the wound, and Cry covered her mouth with her hand, taking a few staggering steps backward.

The grunting from Ralof's fight came to an end shortly after, and Cry heard the Imperial captain fall. After a moment, Ralof approached her, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, and she forced herself to nod.

"It's been awhile since I had to kill someone," she explained, and Ralof blinked in understanding.

"You may have to get used to it," he told her. "I doubt we'll make it out of her alive unless we kill any Imperials we come across."

Cry managed another nod, and she exhaled a weary breath. "Where are we headed?" she asked him.

"I'm going to check these Imperials for a key," Ralof answered, and then he crouched down to check the foot soldier she'd killed. Cry leaned against the wall for support as she gathered herself, looking everywhere but the dead bodies. After a few moments, Ralof straightened up.

"Got it," he said, and then he headed over to the other door in the room. He turned the key in the lock, and the door swung open. "Good. Let's get out of here, before that dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads."

"Good plan," Cry said, and she pushed herself away from the wall and followed him out into the hallway. They hurried down it, and then down a flight of curved stairs to the lower level of the tower. As they reached the bottom, the whole tower began to shake, and Cry heard the sound of rubble beginning to collapse.

"Look out!" Ralof called, and he yanked her backwards just as part of the ceiling fell to the ground. Cry coughed as dust rose into the air, and Ralof eyed the rubble that now blocked the way forward. "Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy."

Cry gestured towards a door that was beside them, and he nodded in agreement. She carefully pushed it inwards, and the sounds of voices within the room increased in volume.

"Grab everything important and let's move! That dragon's burning everything to the ground."

"I just need to gather a few more potions."

Ralof looked at Cry again as two Imperials came into view, and she nodded, readying her axe. Ralof jumped forward towards the Imperials with a shout, and Cry looked between the two of them, wondering which one she could handle.

Unfortunately, the one in stronger armor pushed around where Ralof was currently striking at his companion, and came at her. Cry yelped, and swung her axe blindly in his direction. She felt it make contact, but a moment later, felt his own weapon cut at her, slicing open the tunic she currently wore.

Cry stepped backwards, and swung her axe again, making sure to look where it was going this time. The axe connected with the soldier's shoulder, and he let out a wet gurgle as blood spurted around the blade. He collapsed to his knees, and Cry had to use two hands to yank her axe out of him.

"Did he get you?" Ralof asked her, and she shook her head, trying in vain to fix her tunic so that it covered her. Ralof watched this, and then he gestured towards a chest that sat nearby. "You should check in there for armor or a change of clothes," he suggested. "Can't have you running around and fighting things like that."

He walked away himself to check inside a few barrels for supplies. Cry approached the chest and opened it. Inside, she found the distinctive red armor of the Imperial troops, and she exhaled to herself before pulling the cuirass out.

When she'd finished putting it on, probably missing one or two buckles somewhere, she turned back to Ralof, who was holding two red potion bottles. He lifted an eyebrow when he looked at her.

"You'd look better in blue," he said, and she thought she heard a hint of teasing in the words. "Come on."

Cry followed him out into the hallway beyond the other door in the room, and they walked down it towards the next area. As they approached, the sound of fighting reached them, and Cry frowned when she saw cages come into view.

"Troll's blood," Ralof began, pulling out his axe once more, "it's a torture room!"

He ran forward into it, but Cry remained where she was, having gone still. A torture room? No, she couldn't go in there. She couldn't look at all of those things, not after what had happened to her parents, and not after what she'd done to all those people…

Eventually, the sounds of the fighting faded away, and she heard Ralof speak to someone, who offered him a response. She knew that she needed to move into the room, but her feet felt locked to the ground. She couldn't go in there. She couldn't.

And then Ralof was standing in front of her, and asking her something.

She blinked her eyes rapidly, and focused on him. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"We need to keep going," Ralof answered. "What's going on with you?"

"I just…" Cry shook her head. "I don't really want to talk about it. Let's go."

She moved past him, and steeled herself before entering the torture room. She didn't look at any of the instruments or tools used as she walked straight through it to the hallway on the other side, where she was surprised to find another Stormcloak soldier, alive and female this time.

The soldier immediately brought up her sword, but Ralof hurried in and stepped in front of Cry. "She's with us," he told his companion, who eyed Cry momentarily before sliding her weapon away.

"Come on, this way," Ralof said, and then he took the lead, walking down the hall that had cells lining either side of it. Cry kept her gaze straight forward as she headed past them, and when she reached the other end, she allowed herself to relax, even though she could hear the voices of Imperial soldiers coming from the next room.

The Stormcloaks didn't hesitate before running right into the cavern-like space. Cry entered more slowly, and eyed the situation in front of her. There were five Imperials in the room, two of which were currently being fought by Ralof and the other Stormcloak. The other three had bows, and were firing arrows at the Stormcloaks. Thankfully, their aim didn't seem to be very good, perhaps because they were still shaken up by the dragon attack.

Cry didn't think she wanted to jump right into a fight with three archers, but she didn't see any other choice. She darted forward towards where they were, swinging her axe. She felt an arrow graze her arm as her axe landed in the shoulder of one of the soldiers. She yanked it out quickly and spun around to hit her attacker.

The female Stormcloak had finished off her Imperial, and had come to help. She swung her sword at the third archer while Cry attacked the one that had hit her with an arrow. He avoided her axe several times before she faked a swing to the left and actually attacked on the right, landing a solid blow to the archer's side.

The Imperial went limp, and she quickly pulled her axe out of him, wincing slightly.

By that point, Ralof had joined them, and the female soldier finished off her own archer before sliding her sword away.

"I'm going to stay here and keep watch, just in case Jarl Ulfric comes through here," she said to Ralof, who nodded, and then turned to Cry.

"We should go on ahead, and see if there's a way out."

Cry gladly vacated the cavern ahead of him. She found a lever waiting for them, and a drawbridge, which was currently in the upright position. Ralof joined her, and gestured to the bridge. "Let's see where this goes," he said, and then he kicked the lever in the other direction.

The drawbridge fell down, and Ralof jogged across it. Just as Cry was stepping off on the other side, the cavern shook, and rocks fell from above, right onto the bridge, snapping it in the middle.

"The others will have to find another way out," Ralof said, eyeing the ruined bridge. His shoulders had fallen; clearly, everything was starting to get to him. Cry had to say she felt similarly. All the same, Ralof looked back at her, and said, "Let's push on."

Cry followed him down the path into a new area, where a running stream was hurrying along over the rocks. Ralof stepped right into it, and then held out his hand to help her. Cry took it, and winced as the water washed over her linen shoes.

"You should've taken the boots," Ralof told her, and Cry scowled at him in response. He grinned. "Looks like the way out's up ahead. Come on."

They walked down the water's path, and then stepped out of it to a new branch to the right. Cry took the lead, and she walked down the new way to another open, cavernous room. She frowned to herself as she eyed all of the spiderwebs coating the walls, and she drew her axe.

"I don't like the look of that," she said to Ralof, who nodded and pulled out his own weapon.

"Take it cautiously," he advised. "Maybe they won't hear us."

Cry doubted this, but she stepped into the room nonetheless. Almost at once, two large spiders fell from the ceiling directly in front of her, and two smaller ones pushed their ways out of the cracked spider eggs lining the room.

"So much for taking it cautiously," she called to Ralof, who had moved forward to take on one of the bigger spiders.

He didn't respond, and she looked at her own spider, who eyed her, eight red eyes gleaming. She glared right back, and avoided it as it reached out to attack her with one of its many legs. She then quickly slammed her axe into its eyes, and it squealed as it went slack.

She yanked the axe out and turned to one of the small spiders, which had been about to come up and attack her from behind. She threw the weapon into it as it opened its mouth to shoot her with poison, and the axe embedded itself in its face, killing it instantly.

She retrieved the weapon and looked to see how Ralof was fairing. He'd managed to kill the bigger spider, and was finishing off the small one. He stabbed his axe into the top of it, and then pulled it back out before turning to her.

"I hate these things," he said, looking shaken. "Too many eyes, you know?"

Cry grinned and nodded. "Yes, I do," she said, and then she jerked her head towards the direction of natural light. "Let's get out of here."

"Good idea," Ralof agreed, and then went that way ahead of her. Cry followed, and she heard Ralof inhale. "Watch it!" She halted next to him, and he pointed up ahead. In the distance, Cry could see a big shape on the ground. "That's a bear," Ralof told her.

"I know that," Cry hissed back, and she blinked at him as he started to pull a bow off his back. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to kill it," Ralof responded.

"No, you're not!" Cry pushed his bow downwards. "That's the last thing I want to deal with right now. We're leaving it alone."

Without waiting for a response, she sank into a crouch, and started across the cavern. She heard Ralof follow after a moment, and when they'd reached the other side without disturbing the bear, he stood up again and frowned down at her.

"You're an interesting one, you know that?"

"Yes, actually," Cry answered, standing as well. She dusted herself off. "It makes me fun to be around."

Ralof chuckled, and then he headed towards the small space that they could see leading outwards. "I knew we'd make it," he announced.

He ducked through the cave opening ahead of her, and Cry took a moment to glance over her shoulder before following him out into dazzling sunlight.

"Watch out!" Ralof almost immediately pulled her down next to him behind a rock. Cry was confused as to why, and then she heard the beating of dragon wings, and glanced up to see the black dragon that had attacked Helgen flying off.

"Looks like he's gone for good this time," Ralof said, watching it disappear over the mountains. He then straightened up, bringing Cry with him. "We should get out of here, before the Imperials show up looking for us."

"Good idea," Cry agreed, panting slightly, and she followed him down the road.

"I told you that my sister runs the mill in Riverwood, which isn't too far from here," Ralof began over his shoulder, "so we'll go see her and find out what she knows about what happened here today."

"She won't be bothered by me, will she?" Cry asked. "Because, as of now, I have five gold pieces in my pockets and no supplies."

Ralof laughed. "I doubt she'll be against helping you out," he told her. "The way I see it, without you, I might not have made it out here."

"Oh, please," Cry muttered, moving a bit quicker until she was jogging beside him. "I barely did anything. I was too busy freezing up the entire time."

Ralof glanced sideways at her. "Speaking of which, do you still not want to talk about that?"

"Not really," Cry answered after a moment, and Ralof nodded.

"All right, I won't pressure you into it," he said, and then he turned forward again.

The rest of the walk to Riverwood was rather quiet. Cry didn't have much to say, and it seemed that Ralof didn't, either. She imagined it was because they were both too busy wondering about that dragon. Where had it come from? What was it doing in Skyrim, of all places? How was it even real?

Cry knew very little about dragons, probably about as much as any Nord who grew up in a Nord household, hearing Nordic stories knew. Dragons had supposedly existed a very long time ago, if they'd actually existed at all, which was why it was a shock to everyone to encounter one now. She also knew that there must be a reason for its arrival, and appearance, but she didn't know what that was.

They reached Riverwood in what felt like record time. Cry smiled as she walked beneath the bridge of the guard station, and glanced around the small village. It felt like she was home.

Ralof looked around as well. "It doesn't look like anyone here knows what's happened, yet," he said after a moment, just as a young blond Nord approached an old woman who stood on a porch nearby. "Come on, Gerdur's probably working at the mill."

He started over a bridge leading to the mill, and Cry followed, but kept her attention turned towards the old woman and the young man, for the woman had just exclaimed, "Dragon! I saw a dragon!"

"What is it now, Mother?" the young Nord sighed, crossing his arms.

"It was as big as the mountain, and black as night," the woman continued. "It flew right over the barrow!"

Cry quickened her pace as the son attempted to calm his mother down, wincing. People knew, all right, and they were not happy.

As she rounded the corner, she found Ralof embracing an older Nord woman, who also had blonde hair, and was fussing over him.

"Is it safe for you to be here? We heard that Ulfric had been captured!"

"Gerdur," Ralof said, pulling away from her. "I'm fine. At least, now I am."

"Are you hurt? What's happened?" Gerdur glanced over at Cry as she approached, and frowned slightly. "And who is this?"

"A friend," Ralof answered, looking over at Cry as well. "I owe her my life, in fact." He turned back to his sister, who still looked concerned, and confused. "Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials."

"Helgen?" Gerdur exhaled. "Follow me."

She turned and started towards a grassy clearing towards the front of the mill. As she walked, she called, "Hod! Come here a minute. I need your help with something!"

"What is it now, woman?" a grumbling voice responded from the top of the mill. "Is Sven drunk on the job again?"

"Hod, just come here!" Gerdur repeated, exasperated, and Cry saw a heavily bearded man appear on the mill, and his eyes widened when he caught sight of Ralof, who grinned and waved at him.

"Ralof, what are you doing here? I'll - I'll be right down!" The man disappeared again, and a young boy raced through the grass towards where Ralof and Gerdur had stopped, a big shaggy dog on his heels.

"Uncle Ralof! Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?"

Gerdur looked extremely embarrassed. "Hush now, Frodnar, this is no time for your games. Go and watch the south road." She gestured in the direction that they had come from. "Come and find us if you see any Imperial soldiers."

"Aw, but Mama, I want to talk to Uncle Ralof!" Frodnar exclaimed, unhappily.

Ralof smiled at his sister, and then at his nephew. "Look at you, almost a grown man," he said. "Won't be long before you'll be joining the fight yourself."

Frodnar immediately beamed. "That's right! Don't worry, Uncle Ralof, I won't let those soldiers sneak up on you!" The young boy turned tail and raced away, the dog running right after him. Cry grinned to herself and settled down next to Ralof on the tree stump he'd taken a seat on with a heavy sigh.

After a moment, the man Gerdur had called Hod approached, huffing slightly. "Now, Ralof, what's going on?" he asked, pausing next to where Gerdur still stood. He looked between Ralof and Cry. "You two look pretty well done in."

"Oh, where to start?" Ralof asked, glancing at Cry, who shrugged in response. "Well, the news you heard about Ulfric was true," he said after a moment, looking back at his sister. "The Imperials ambushed us outside of Whiterun Hold. That was sometime last night, I think. After that, well, I'm not so sure what happened, other than the fact that we were loaded into carts and taken to Helgen, where we were to be executed."

"The cowards!" Gerdur exclaimed, crossing her arms with a scowl.

"They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial." Ralof shook his head. "Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would've seen the truth, then."

"Something must have happened, however, since you're here, now," Hod said, and Ralof nodded.

"You could say that." He inhaled, and looked at them both. "A dragon attacked Helgen."

Gerdur's eyes went wide. "You don't mean… a real, live…?"

"I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there," Ralof said with a sigh. "As strange as it sounds, we'd be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away." He looked at his sister in concern. "Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?"

"Nobody else has come up the south road today, as far as I know," Gerdur answered, and then she glanced down at the ground.

Ralof exchanged a glance with Cry, and then he looked her over once, before speaking again. "Maybe we can lay up here for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but…"

"Nonsense," Gerdur said, immediately. "You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you need to."

Cry felt her shoulders drop in relief, and Ralof released a breath beside her. Gerdur smiled, and then looked directly at Cry. "Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine," she said, and she reached into a pocket on the dress she was wearing, pulling out a silver key. "Here's a key to the house. Stay as long as you like. I may even have a spare change of clothing for you in there."

Cry took the key. "Thank you, so much."

"You're welcome." She looked at Ralof again. "I should get back to work, before I'm missed. Before I go, though, do you know if anyone else escaped? Did Ulfric…?"

"Don't worry," Ralof said with a smile. "It will take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak."

That was something Cry could definitely agree with.

"I'll, uh, take them to the house, show them around," Hod said, straightening his shoulders, and Gerdur snorted.

"Help them drink up all our mead, you mean." She shook her head to herself. "I'll see you later."

"Thank you, Gerdur," Ralof said, and they watched her walk away in the direction of the mill again.

Hod immediately turned and started to march towards the village proper. Ralof stood and followed him. Cry, wanting a change of clothes very badly, went after them both.

As they walked over another bridge back into Riverwood, she spotted a wood elf walking down the road towards the Sleeping Giant Inn, as well as a redheaded Nord leaning up against one of the walls. Both eyed her and Ralof up and down as they walked by.

Once they were inside Gerdur and Hod's home, Cry wasted no time in hurrying for the nearest wardrobe she spotted and pulling open the doors. She was relieved to find a plain blue tunic and brown trousers inside of it, and she retrieved both things before swinging the doors shut again.

Ralof had settled down at the table in the small kitchen, and was munching on an apple. He gestured towards the bowl of them on the table, and Cry shook her head.

"I think I'm going to head out," she said, and Ralof blinked at her, swallowing.

"Already? Don't you want to relax, a bit?" he asked, and Cry shook her head.

"I want to get to Whiterun as soon as I can," she explained, and then she smiled at him. "Thank you, for helping me today. I'd probably be dead, if it weren't for you."

"Let's just say we helped each other, so neither one owes the other," he said, and Cry nodded in agreement. "I hope we'll run into one another again, someday."

"So do I," Cry agreed, and then she dipped her head to him. "Goodbye, Ralof." She nodded to Hod as well, and then ducked out of the house, almost running straight into Gerdur. "Oh! I'm sorry!"

"It's all right," Gerdur said. "I was actually coming to find you, because I thought of something you could do for me, for all of us here in Riverwood, actually."

"Of course," Cry said, immediately. "What is it?"

"The Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf, needs to know that Riverwood is defenseless," Gerdur said. "We'd appreciate it if you would go and tell him about the dragon attack, and ask that he send troops here."

"Sure, I can do that. I was heading to Whiterun, anyway." Cry grinned at her. "Thank you for the clothes."

"Anything you need," Gerdur said, and then she moved past her into the house, probably to catch Ralof and Hod in the act of drinking.

Cry let out a breath, and started for the inn.


	6. Chapter 4: Bleak Falls Barrow

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

After Cry had used one of the inn's rooms for privacy in order to change her clothing, she started for the general goods store, wanting to see if they had a weapon other than the axe that she'd taken. She needed a sword.

As she walked into the Riverwood Trader, she was met by the sounds of an intense argument. "Well, one of us has to do something!" a woman standing before the counter was saying.

"I said no!" the man behind the counter retorted. "No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"

"Well, what are you going to do then, huh?" the woman demanded with a huff. "Let's hear it!"

"We are done talking about this -" The man cut off as he caught sight of Cry, standing in the doorway of the shop. He gestured to the woman, who glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. "A customer! Sorry you had to hear that…"

"It's… it's all right," Cry said, approaching the counter as the woman stalked away from it. "Did something happen?"

"Well… we did have a bit of a break in," the man answered, "but we still have plenty to sell! Robbers were only after one thing: an ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw."

Cry drummed her fingers against the countertop. She had other things to do, but it was clear that these two wanted their claw back. So, with a resigned, inward sigh, she looked at the shopkeep. "I could help you get the claw back."

"You could?" he asked, his eyes lighting up. "I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours, if you bring the claw back."

That sounded more reassuring.

"If you're going to get those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town," the shopkeep continued. "My name is Lucan, by the way. Lucan Valerius."

Cry nodded, already formulating a plan. Ralof had pointed out the Barrow on their way into Riverwood. It had been big, and ominous looking, but nothing she didn't think she couldn't handle. She just needed to know how to get there.

"I think your helper here needs a guide." Cry glanced over at the woman, who'd taken a seat at a small table near the fireplace.

"Wh - no, I… oh, by the Eight, fine! But only to the edge of town!" Lucan stated, firmly, and then he turned back to the coins that were on top of the counter.

The woman smiled, pleased, and rose from her chair. "Follow me," she said to Cry, and then she turned and exited the shop.

After she had been show the way, to go north of town and down the road to the left after the bridge rather than the right, Cry came to the realization that she was very unprepared to go out in the search for a band of thieves. The last thing she needed to do was get caught in a fight with them, armorless, and with a weapon that she did not feel comfortable wielding.

Still, she needed that gold that Lucan had promised her, or she would not be able to afford armor, or a better sword. She really had no choice, unless she wanted to stand around in the inn and sing for hours on end to earn twenty coins.

She sighed to herself, made sure her axe was secured to her hip, and headed for Bleak Falls Barrow.

She followed the path up the side of the mountain, knowing that the higher she climbed, the colder it would grow. Although the clothing she wore was not suited for fighting, it was warmer than any armor, and so she was grateful.

Still, her gratefulness faded as she came upon a rundown tower just as she passed the place where the warmth faded away into cold, and leaves and green were replaced by snow and white. Cry paused, and examined the tower. Outside of it, she could see one person standing guard. She knew that no one other than a group of bandits would claim this place as an area to hole up. Cry had not fought bandits in years, and she did not know how many more were inside the tower itself.

She rested her hand on the axe at her waist and considered it. She knew that Bleak Falls Barrow would most likely be filled with an even worse enemy than bandits. It would be useful to have some of their armor for her journey through the ruin.

She hesitated a moment longer, before sighing and pulling her axe free from its spot at her waist. She needed the armor that these bandits had to offer, and whatever gold they had hidden away in the tower as well. She would have to fight them, whether she wanted to or not.

Thankfully, all three bandits were incompetent, or she was just a better fighter than she knew herself to be. After she had sliced open the neck of the last bandit to come running out of the tower, Cry glanced around at them, and then sighed to herself.

She did not willingly loot dead bodies. She thought it was disturbing, and downright unsanitary and rude. These bandits may have killed more than her in their time, but that did not mean they deserved to have their bodies stolen off of, for the benefit of the person that had killed them. They were people, too.

She knew that she would not make it through Bleak Falls Barrow without the armor that one of them was wearing, however. It seemed that, in this instance, she did not have much of a choice.

She crouched down next to the only woman bandit, and examined the armor. It was leather, but the cuirass was covered in steel studs that provided an extra sort of protection for those who knew how to stay out of the way of a blade. It would suit her, and it looked as though it would fit rather comfortably.

Cry hesitated a moment longer, before grabbing the woman's arms and dragging her into the tower. If she meant to loot the body, at least she could do the woman the courtesy of doing so out of the open air.

A while later, she reemerged from the tower, dressed in the woman's armor and fastening a steel sword to her side. She was comfortable with a war axe, had been trained to use all matters of weapons by Galmar and her father when she had been young, but a sword would always be the best weapon wielded by her hand.

She had also found a few potion bottles and satchels of gold inside the tower. Thankfully, an empty knapsack had been lying on the floor, and she had made use of it. It was hung off of her shoulders, tightened so that it rested neatly against the small of her back, and did not move when she turned quickly.

Cry straightened her shoulders with a small smile. She felt more like someone suited for journeying, now, most definitely. With an exhale, she left the tower behind, and continued on towards the ruin that loomed up through the snow in the distance.

There were more bandits outside of it, but she easily took care of them as well, helping herself to the bow and arrows that one of them had strapped to his back. She slid the quiver and bow over her shoulders, and turned to look at the ruin itself.

Bleak Falls Barrow did not look like any ruin that she had ever seen in Skyrim. It was more of a large temple, rather than a hole in the ground. She actually felt a bit intimidated by it and its size, but after thinking about it for a moment, she decided it had to be a front, that the ruin itself would mostly be underground.

With resolve, she marched up the stairs, and pushed her way into Bleak Falls Barrow.

She made her way through the first few chambers with little effort. It was just as she'd expected; there were bandits inside, yes, but there were also the creatures that Nords called draugr inside as well, dead that had risen with the ability to fight the living. They were nothing more than skeletons with glowing eyes, however, and Cry was able to take care of them with very easily.

Her real adversary arose deeper underground. She sensed it was coming, when there was a growing number of spiderwebs in each room that she passed through, but when she came to an opening completely blocked off by webs, she knew that the spider would be just past it.

However, there was also a voice coming from the other side of it. From what the voice was saying, she guessed that he was another bandit, probably searching for whatever gold this ruin had to offer. Perhaps even one that had been part of the group to steal from Lucan Valerius.

She needed to speak with that bandit, which meant that she needed to fight, and kill, the spider on the other side of the web-covered archway.

She pulled out her sword, and cut away the spider webs. She had barely a moment to take in the room on the other side before the spider arrived. She saw the man who was being held up in the webs in a doorway across the way. He was a Dunmer, who looked rather helpless.

He called out to her, but before she could respond, the spider appeared, landing heavily directly in front of her. It was much bigger than the ones she and Ralof had dealt with. It hissed at her, and Cry quickly swung her sword at it with a grunt. The spider let out a noise of pain as the blade sliced across its face.

Cry dodged backwards, ducking behind one of the walls near the door she'd come through. She exhaled a breath, and then leaned around the wall to see what the spider was doing. Letting out a yelp when she saw that it was trying to get to her through a hole in the wall, she turned around to the other side of the doorway and stuck her sword into it again, and again.

The spider attempted to spit some venom at her, but she narrowly avoided it by skipping sideways. She then turned quickly and sliced at it a fourth time. She couldn't believe how tough the big beast was.

It was slow, however, which gave her an advantage. As it turned to try and catch sight of her again, she circled around it, making sure to stay out of its line of sight. All the while, the dark elf continue to shout at her. "Kill it! Kill it!"

"I'm trying my best!" Cry exclaimed, and she stabbed her sword into it. The spider shuddered, and it vibrated through her sword into her arm. Cry pulled the sword out and kept circling, stabbing at the spider whenever she got the chance.

Eventually, she realized that attacking its body wasn't going to do any significant damage. She needed to get the blade between its eyes. She steadied herself, watching the spider's movements, and then she jumped up onto its back. The spider immediately thrashed in hatred, attempting to knock her off. Cry managed to stay on with one hand, while the other raised her sword directly over the spider's head. With a yell, she brought the blade down, hard. It sank into the spider just above its eyes, and the spider collapsed beneath her.

Exhaling, Cry pulled her sword out, and slid off of the beast. She kicked it, to make sure it was actually dead, before rolling her shoulders, and moving over to where the Dunmer hung from the spiderwebs.

"Great, you killed it," he began. "Now, get me down from here."

"First, you tell me what you know about the golden claw," Cry said, putting her sword away and crossing her arms.

"I know all about it, how to use it to get through the door in the Hall of Stories, and about the treasure!" the dark elf assured. "I'll show you once you let me down."

Cry eyed him warily. "Treasure?" she asked, and he nodded eagerly.

"We can split it!"

Cry exhaled, and then pulled out her sword again. She sliced at the webs around him, and then he fell to the ground. Chuckling, he stood up, and immediately turned and ran.

Cry rolled her eyes upwards as she listened to him crash down the hallway beyond the archway he'd been hanging in. She waited until the noise had faded, before following after him, and wasn't surprised to see that he had been struck down by two draugr.

It had been awhile since Cry had been faced with draugr, and so she hesitated as they patrolled through the room she was faced with, unaware of her presence. She wasn't sure the best way to handle this, other than to just jump right in and try to take them down. She knew they were slow, but they were strong. If she was quick enough, she'd be able to get them.

So, she entered the room, and immediately, both draugr turned towards her, hissing and grunting. Cry ducked under one sword that swung in her direction, swinging her own at the knees of the one that had tried to hit her. It went down, and she immediately straightened up again, pushing her sword upwards at the same time. Her blade went through the chest of the one still standing, and the glowing light in its eyes died.

She pulled her sword free, and then stabbed it through the one she had cut across the knees. It died as well, and Cry yanked her sword out again, panting. She then went over to inspect the dead Dunmer. She found what appeared to be the golden claw stuffed into a bag he had hanging from his waist, and she admired it for a moment before slipping it into her own pack. She knew that she should probably just turn around now and leave Bleak Falls Barrow the way that she had come in, but she had heard the word treasure, and realized just how lacking in gold she actually was. Cry concluded that she needed said treasure.

Assuming that it was hidden deeper in the ruins, she decided to press onwards.

* * *

After fighting her way through the rest of the ruin, she found herself in a long hallway. There were pictures carved into the walls, and she examined them with interest. In one, there was a small figure holding a bow, and it faced several bigger figures, all of which had their backs turned to the small figure. In another, a normal sized figure was crouched outside a building, holding two daggers, Cry guessed. In a third, another figure faced off against what appeared to be a dragon, a great sword held in their hands.

Cry took a step backwards from the images, feeling strange. Her head hurt, all of a sudden, and she decided that she wanted to leave the ruin as soon as she could.

She walked the rest of the way down the hall to the other end. What looked like a door blocked the way. On the door itself, there were three different rings, which, when Cry touched them, moved. She reached into her bag and retrieved the golden claw. Carved into it were three symbols, and they matched the ones on the rings.

This is simple, she thought, and then she spun the rings around until they matched the order that the symbols were in on the claw. After that, when the door didn't open, she looked at it closer. There were three holes on the door, and she glanced at the claw. After a moment, she placed the claw into the holes, and then twisted it.

Immediately, the door rumbled, and Cry took a step backwards, taking the claw with her. The door's rings turned on their own, and then the door began to sink down into the ground, revealing the other side. Cry gazed at the staircase there for a moment before stepping over the top of the door, which was still visible, and starting up them. When she reached the top, she saw that they opened up into a bigger cavern, and she headed into it.

A swarm of bats swooped down on her, and she ducked to avoid them, before glancing around. Natural light filled the space, and she assumed that she must be close to the surface. Several water sources spilled into the cavern, filling a small stream that ran through part of the area. A large stone wall stood detached from the actual wall across a stone bridge from where she stood, and a burial pyre was centered in front of it.

Avoiding the pyre, Cry approached the stand-alone wall. Frowning to herself, she tilted her head, listening to the whispers that seemed to be coming from the wall itself. The wall was carved with many different symbols that appeared to make up words, and, for whatever reason, Cry thought that she understood what they meant. One of the words seemed to be glowing. As she focused on it, the whispers grew louder, and something inside of her seemed to catch on fire as the meaning of the glowing word blasted through her mind.

Cry almost staggered backward from the force of it, but she managed to regain her balance at the last second, just in time to hear the coffin behind her cracking open as whatever was inside of it came to life. She pulled out her sword, and turned to face it, still fighting off the effects of whatever had just happened to her because of the Word Wall.

Word Wall. She frowned again as she swung her sword at the draugr that was trying to kill her. Where did I come up with that?

The draugr was not happy with her. Cry staggered as it Shouted at her, and she wondered if the Thu'um had just been an inborn ability that all Nords of old had simply known how to use. It didn't make it any easier that he was using a greatsword, and had a much larger reach than she did.

The draugr chased her all around the cavern. For whatever reason, Cry didn't want to leave until she was able to see what the draugr had hiding, both in its coffin and the chest that sat nearby. This draugr was no different from all the other ones that she had fought; she was still a lot smarter than it. Because of that, she was able to beat it after hiding behind a rock. It lost interest in her, and that opened up a space for her to get behind it, and stab it through the neck.

Once the draugr was dead on the end of her sword, she left it where it was and returned to the pyre. Peering into the coffin, she found several bags of gold, and a big stone tablet that was carved with what seemed to be a map of Skyrim. Cry examined it for a moment, and then shrugged before sticking it into her pack. It could fetch a price, she thought.

The chest did not hold any big treasure, besides a glowing sword and a shield that was much too heavy for her to lug around. She left both of them in the chest, and closed the lid again, slightly disappointed in the turnout from her expedition into Bleak Falls Barrow.

Oh well, she thought, shouldering her pack and heading for the stairs nearby. At least I'll get the reward for bringing the golden claw back to Lucan Valerius.

Still, she could not shake the weird feeling that she had gotten after her interaction with the… Word Wall. She had no idea what had actually happened, what the burning feeling she'd felt was, or even what the meaning of the glowing word had been, and she was too afraid to try and remember.

Deciding to ignore it for now, she pushed her way up the stairs, and through what remained of the ruin, until she was back out in the open air of Skyrim. Relieved to be outside, she inhaled momentarily, and then glanced up at the sun to get her bearings.

It seemed that she had come out on the complete opposite side of where she needed to be, which meant that she would have to find a road, and figure out which way was south, because that was the direction she needed to go to get back to Riverwood. She was definitely not going anywhere before getting her money from Lucan and seeing what his store had to offer her.


	7. Chapter 5: The Second Dragon

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Cry walked out of the Riverwood Trader about two hours later feeling rather content. She had purchased a better sword, one that was sharpened, and a nicer scabbard than the one she'd had previous. She'd also bought a pair of boots that actually matched the armor she had taken from the bandit, and several potions that would help with any wounds she received.

It was, however, getting dark, which meant that she probably needed to wait until the following day to actually head towards Whiterun. Sighing, she made her way towards the inn, only to be called to halt by a wood elf, who had a bow hanging off of his back.

Cry raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes?"

"You've been speaking with Camilla Valerius, haven't you?" he asked her, and she hesitated a moment.

"Why?"

"Well, this is going to sound selfish, but I have a request to ask of you," the Bosmer said, looking a bit apologetic. "My name is Faendal. I have a bit of a task for you, to deal with Sven, that I can pay you for."

"I'm not doing anything for you until you stop speaking in prose and spit it out," Cry said, beginning to feel impatient. She'd had a long day, after all.

Faendal looked taken aback, and he frowned at her. "Sven thinks his ballads and sonnets are going to convince Camilla Valerius to marry him," he said at last, and Cry rolled her eyes.

"You're right, of course. When have words ever inspired feelings of love?"

"The last thing I need are your jokes," Faendal said, annoyed, "but you may have a point. I think Camilla needs some help seeing Sven for what he is, and that's where you come in." He pulled out a piece of folded parchment, and held it out to her. "Could you give her this letter, and say it's from Sven? I think I've matched that Nord's lack of cleverness perfectly."

Cry gaped at the letter. "Who do you think I am?" she demanded of him. "I am not going to give a woman a fake letter that you wrote just to convince her that another man who is trying to woo her is the wrong one! You're a terrible person!"

She turned and stalked away from him, fuming. Where did that wood elf get off, thinking that she would give Camilla a fake letter just so that he would be able to more easily win her affections? Only someone who seriously had no chance would do something so ridiculous.

She shook her head to herself as she pushed her way into the Sleeping Giant Inn. The sound of a bard was the first thing that she heard, and the second was the crackling of fire from the pit in the center of the room. She considered it for a moment, watching the blond bard as he strummed away on a lute, and then she headed over to him.

"Are you Sven?" she asked, and he lowered his lute. After a moment, he grinned at her.

"Why, yes I am."

Cry held up her hand. "Save it. I'm only here to tell you that Faendal just asked me to give a fake letter from you to Camilla Valerius."

Sven's entire demeanor changed instantly. "Oh, did he? Shocking. Perhaps we should play a bit of turnabout with Faendal."

"No!" Cry exclaimed, throwing up her hands. The few patrons inside the inn looked over at her in surprise, but she ignored them, instead poking a finger into Sven's face. "What is wrong with you two? Fight for the woman's heart like a_ctual men,_ not children who don't know what they're doing! Good Gods, _neither_ of you deserve her affection!"

She turned around, and stalked over to the innkeeper, a thin blonde woman in a blue dress, who was holding a broom and looking at her with a funny expression.

"Could I have a room?" Cry asked, pulling out some gold.

"Of course," the woman said, taking it, and she gestured towards an empty room. "That one there."

"Thank you," Cry huffed, and she headed into the room, closing the door behind her, disgusted. No wonder that she had never actually held any affections for a man; they were all pigs.

She dropped her pack and her sword belt heavily on the ground, and then laid down on the bed with a sigh. She was going to get out of Riverwood as soon as dawn broke the following day.

Which was exactly what she did. She fixed her hair, put on her sword belt, and headed out of the room, leaving the door open so that the innkeeper would know that it was vacated. She left the inn, blinking in the early morning light, and covered her brow with her hand, to take a look around.

The streets of Riverwood were vacated, probably because the people were still asleep. She was able to walk freely across the bridge that she had taken to reach Bleak Falls Barrow the day before, but she went the other direction this time, following the road and the sign that pointed towards Whiterun.

It didn't take long to get there, and as she rounded a bend in the road, she paused, catching sight of Dragonsreach and the outlying farms that surrounded the city. The second thing she caught sight of was a giant, which was currently attacking one of the farms.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, and she cut a path through the remaining bit of trees that blocked her way to the farm. She tripped, a little, but held her balance, and pulled out her sword as she reached the edge of the farm. Already panting, she jumped over the fence, and darted under the giant, slashing at its legs. The giant swung its club blindly in her direction. Cry dodged it, and went in with her sword again.

There was a battle cry from somewhere nearby, and suddenly she was surrounded by other people who were helping her to fight the giant. One of them remained back a few paces, shooting arrows at it. Another wore steel armor, and carried a greatsword. The third was a young woman who carried a plain steel sword, like the one Cry had.

Together, they were able to fight the giant, and kill it with only a few hard swings from each person. At one point, Cry found herself fight alongside the male with the greatsword. As he attacked the giant with overhead swings, Cry focused on keeping it distracted for him. With one final yell, the man struck the giant, killing it. It fell to the ground with a heavy crash, making the fence rattle.

Cry was panting, and she slid her sword away into her scabbard. The man nodded to her, and she nodded back. She'd forgotten what it felt like to fight as a team with someone, and was slightly amazed by how easily it had been to fight with him.

The woman who had been firing arrows approached her. "You fight rather well," she said. "You could make for a decent Shield-Sister."

"A Shield-Sister?" Cry asked, frowning.

"Oh, you've never heard of the Companions?" the woman asked.

"The _Companions_. Of course I have!" Cry said, the connection actually making itself in her mind. "You're a Companion?"

"All three of us are," the woman said, gesturing to the other two. "You should consider joining up; just come to Jorrvaskr in Whiterun, and talk to the old man, Kodlak. He has a good eye for people."

Without a word of goodbye, or even her name, she turned and walked off, calling for the other two to join her. Cry watched them confer for a moment, and then they turned and ran off in the direction she had come from.

Cry smiled to herself. A personal invitation to join the Companions. She liked that, and might have to consider it, after she told the jarl about the dragon and Helgen, although she assumed he probably knew about it by now. At least, she hoped so, or communication in Skyrim had really gone downhill since she'd left.

Sighing, she headed towards the city itself.

There were guards outside the gate, which was to be expected, and one of them walked to meet her as soon as she approached.

"Halt!" he called, pausing a few steps away. "No visitors are being allowed into the city with the dragons about."

"Please," Cry said. "I have news for the jarl about the attack in Helgen. The people of Riverwood think that the dragon might attack there next."

The guard gazed at her for a moment. "Fine," he finally said, "but we're keeping an eye on you."

He turned and walked back to his post, and Cry continued forward to the gate as well. She pushed her way into Whiterun, and immediately grinned.

The city was just the same as it had been the last time she'd been there. The blacksmith was still where it had been, but now a young woman was in charge of it, instead of the burly bald Nord that had been when she'd visited the last time. The blacksmith was currently arguing with a man wearing Imperial armor about weapons for the Imperial army.

Cry shook her head, the smile fading. Politics, as soon as she walked into the city. Gods above.

She made her way through the city, listening to the sounds of the marketplace as she walked through it. The inn was where it had been, and all of the open air shops were where they had been. It was all just the same.

As she reached the Wind District, she glanced towards Jorrvaskr, where she knew the Companions made their home. It was made out of an old ship, and she wondered how they'd managed to turn that into a place to live. Perhaps she'd find out, if she decided to join up with them.

Instead, she made her way up towards Dragonsreach, admiring the way it looked in the rising sunlight. She paused for a moment, simply staring at it. Then she remembered that she actually had something to do, and she kept moving, thinking there would be time for admiration later.

There was a guard standing outside Dragonsreach as well, but a description about the dragon attack was enough to allow her inside. She paused once she was through the heavy double doors, looking around. She'd only been inside Dragonsreach once, but she supposed not much had changed. The jarl's seat was at the other end of the great hall where it had been, anyway, and she started towards it.

As she neared, a dark elf approached her, pulling out her sword as she did so. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

"I know, I know," Cry said, "but I'm here from Riverwood. The people there think the city is in danger."

"And why were you the one sent to Dragonsreach to report this?"

"Because I was at Helgen when the dragon attacked."

The Dunmer gazed at her for a moment. "The jarl will want to speak with you personally, then," she finally said, and then she slid her sword away again. "Come along."

She led the way towards the throne, pausing at the edge of the dais. The jarl was speaking to who was probably his steward. As soon as his conversation was finished, however, he turned to her, listening to the Dunker as she murmured to him, gesturing towards Cry. The jarl blinked, as though he recognized her, and Cry stiffened. There was no way that he did; it had been years.

After a moment, the look passed, and he said, "So, you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

"Yes, actually," Cry said, and she exhaled a breath. "I had a great view of it when the Imperials were about to - you know what, never mind. I saw the dragon, and the _last_ time I saw it, it was headed in the direction of Whiterun." She paused. "My name is Cry Silverworthy, by the way."

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right," Jarl Balgruuf exclaimed, obviously having lost interest in whatever else she had to say. He turned away from her, and looked once more at his steward, who was standing to the right of the throne with his arms behind his back. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

The dark elf stepped forward again, and Cry assumed that she was the housecarl, or something similar. "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger. If the dragon is lurking in the mountains -"

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" the steward interrupted. "He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him."

Cry had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Everything had to reference the war nowadays, apparently.

"Enough!" Jarl Balgruuf said as the housecarl and steward began to argue. "I shall not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" He looked at the housecarl. "Irileth, send an attachment to Riverwood at once."

Irileth bowed to him, a hand over her heart. "Yes, my jarl."

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties," Proventus said, quietly.

"I think that's for the best," Balgruuf agreed, and then he looked at Cry again, who was leaning up and down on her toes, wondering if she was free to go. "Well done," he said to her, and she looked at him, blinking. "You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. I'll have Proventus get you a gift from my personal armory."

"No, there's no need for that," Cry said immediately. "I was doing someone a favor, that's all."

"I see." Jarl Balgruuf thought about it for a moment. "Well, I have a task for you, if you're willing."

Cry held out her arms. "I'm actually not bogged down by much, so, I am, actually."

"Good," Balgruuf said. He stood up. "Follow me, then."

Cry did so, following him to a room that was off to the side of the great hall. It seemed to be a private quarter for someone, and Cry decided it was probably the mage that was standing behind the table in the center of the room. He looked up at their entrance.

"Farengar," Balgruuf began. "I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in on the details."

"So," Farengar began as Balgruuf left the room, "the jarl thinks you can be of some use to me? Well, he could be right; I could use someone to fetch something for me."

"Fetch what?" Cry asked.

"A stone tablet, hidden within the ruins of Bleak Falls Barrow. You might have heard of it."

Cry could suddenly feel the weight of the tablet she had found the day before more heavily in her pack. As Farengar continued to speak, she pulled her pack off of her shoulders, setting it on the floor. She reached into it, and after a moment, pulled out the tablet.

"You mean this thing?"

"Oh!" Fargenar sounded amazed. "The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow. You've already found it!" He laughed. "You're cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the jarl sends me."

"So, what does this thing have to do with dragons?" Cry asked him.

"It's supposedly a map of dragon burial sites that dot Skyrim's landscape," Farengar replied, taking the tablet from her. "I'm hoping I can use this to find out if more dragons are going to appear, and if so, hopefully we can stop them before they can get far from wherever they're coming from."

Cry frowned. The thought was that dragons were coming back to life? That was ridiculous.

She was about to ask Farengar why he believed this, but then Irileth hurried into the room. "Farengar, come quickly!" she said. "A dragon was sighted nearby." She glanced at Cry. "You should come, too."

"How exciting!" Farengar said, moving around the table, where he had set down the tablet. "Where was it going? What was it doing?"

"I'd take this a bit more seriously, if I were you," Irileth said, leading the way out of the room towards a set of stairs to the right of the throne. "If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it."

They reached the top of the stairs, and found Jarl Balgruuf speaking to a Whiterun guard. "Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower," he said, and the guard nodded.

"Yes, my lord."

"Tell him what you told me, about the dragon," Irileth encouraged, moving to stand at the guard's side. Cry hung back, and Farengar paced a bit, listening to the conversation.

"We saw it coming from the south," the guard said. "It was fast. Faster than anything I've ever seen."

"What did it do?" Balgruuf asked. "Is it attacking the watchtower?"

"No, my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life… I thought it would come after me for sure," the guard said.

"Good work, son," Balgruuf said, kindly. "We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it."

"Thank you, my lord," the guard said, and then he turned and walked away. Irileth and Farengar approached Balgruuf. Cry remained where she was, but listened closely.

"Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there," Balgruuf said.

"I've already ordered some of my men to muster near the main gate," the Dunmer assured.

"Good, don't fail me," Balgruuf said, and then he turned to Cry, gesturing her forward. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth, and help her fight this dragon."

"Wait, what?" Cry asked, blinking at him. "Really?"

"You were at Helgen. You have more experience with dragons than any of us here," Balgruuf told her.

"If by experience you mean I _saw_ one and _ran away_ from it, then sure," Cry said. "I don't know how to _fight_ one!"

"No one does," Balgruuf said, and Cry exhaled heavily, shifting her weight to her other foot.

"All right," she sighed, feeling like she had no other choice. She turned to Irileth. "Let's go."

"One last thing, Irileth," Balgruuf said, and they both paused before heading down the stairs. "This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."

"Don't worry, my lord," Irileth assured. "I am the very soul of caution."

"All the same, don't do anything reckless."

Irileth nodded, and led the way back down the stairs. Cry followed her out of Dragonsreach and through Whiterun, wondering how in the world she'd managed to get wrapped up in a such a mess. All she'd been trying to do was help out someone who had helped her out. Where in that decision had there been anything about _fighting a dragon?_

They met up a with a group of guards that, Cry thought, were pretty small in number. Irileth paused in front of them, probably to give some type of speech before they headed out to, quite possibly, their deaths.

Indeed, as Irileth spoke, one of the guards mumbled under his breath, beneath the cheers of his brothers, "We're so dead."

_Probably_, Cry thought, but she keep it to herself, and hurried out of Whiterun behind the group of guards nonetheless.

As they approached the western watchtower, the situation turned even bleaker. Already, there were signs of a dragon attack, what with the burning pieces of rubble on the ground, and the scorched shield with the Whiterun horse on it. Irileth picked it up, and glanced around.

"All right, spread out and take a look," she said, "but be careful. We don't know if it could still be skulking around somewhere."

The patrol headed towards the tower, Cry included. She'd already pulled out her sword, and was making sure to keep an eye out in every direction, in case the dragon decided to come back. She approached the tower, and started to climb up into it. As she did so, a guard who was missing his helmet crept out of it.

"No, get back!" he hissed, seeing the patrol. "The dragon's still lurking around here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

Suddenly, a familiar-sounding roar that sent a chill up Cry's back rang around them, and she heard the leathery sound of flapping wings. Turning east, she saw the dragon flying straight towards the tower.

"Find cover, and make every arrow count!" Irileth shouted, pulling out a bow. All the others had pulled out bows as well. Cry, who had dropped her bow in a chest back in Riverwood, suddenly wished she hadn't been such an idiot, and had kept it.

She ducked into the watchtower, and looked around, hoping there was a discarded bow and a sheath of arrows lying around somewhere. Outside, she could tell that the dragon had landed, because the roars were amplified, and there were battlecries as the guards fought against it.

"Come on, come on," Cry mumbled, digging around in a pile of rubble. And, she supposed there was a God, at least one, because at the very bottom, she found a beat up looking bow, and… _"Seven_ arrows?"

"He's going up again!" someone shouted from outside, and Cry glanced around. She spotted the stairs that would take her to the top of the tower, and considered it for about three seconds before sprinting up them.

She emerged onto the roof of the tower, already pulling an arrow back in the bow's string. The dragon was circling the plains below at a lower height than she'd expected. The others must have already done a good amount of work on him.

She relaxed her bow arm, thinking back to the lessons she'd had with Galmar about archery, and how best to approach a moving target. Of course, that target had never been a _dragon_, but it was big; surely it would be easier to hit than a bird or a rabbit.

She leveled her arrow with the path that the dragon was flying in, aiming a bit further ahead of the beast. After counting to three, she let the arrow fly, and was rewarded when the dragon jerked a bit in the air, and flipped, beginning to fly in the other direction.

Cry quickly prepared another arrow, hoping that she would be able to fire this one as well before the dragon spotted her at the top of the tower. She did not; the dragon set its gaze on her, and roared loudly, before blasting fire in her direction.

Cry yelped, and dodged out of the way just before the fire reached where she'd previously been standing. As she hit the roof again, she accidently let the arrow go, and it disappeared over the side of the tower. Cry cursed, blinking after it, and then she turned around to make sure that the dragon wasn't about to hit her with more fire.

It had disappeared from view. Not sure if that was a good thing, Cry pushed herself to her feet, and hurried over to the edge. The dragon had landed again, clearly suffering from the wounds it had been dealt. Cry decided to use up her remaining arrows from where she was, and get them into as many important places in the beast as she could. Her first she sent into one wing, the next into the other. The dragon attempted to take flight, then, but couldn't, and she allowed herself a brief moment of celebration. They were actually going to beat this thing!

Even as she thought this, a guard went flying into the air, having been picked up in the dragon's teeth and thrown. Cry quickly readied a third arrow, and aimed for the dragon's thrashing head. Irileth was casting spells at it, and lightning sparked against its scaly hide as Cry's arrow found its mark in the area just above its eye.

The dragon roared again, and Cry sent her fourth arrow in the same direction her third had gone. This one missed, and she exhaled a breath before readying her fifth arrow, knowing this was her last shot.

"C'mon," she murmured to herself. "You can do this." She took aim, at one of the dragon's eyes. Breathing out, slowly, she relaxed her bow arm, and let the arrow go. It sailed through the air, and Cry hurried forward to see where it landed.

The dragon thrashed one final time, and then went still as her arrow found its mark in its eye. The life seemed to completely drain out of the beast, because it slumped onto the ground, going slack. Cry couldn't believe it. They'd actually taken down a dragon.

She quickly hurried down to the ground level again, moving outside to join the rest. Even as she did so, however, a sudden warmth rushed over her, like a hot wind. She almost collapsed from the sheer force of it, but she managed to keep her feet. She closed her eyes and grit her teeth, hating how _hot_ it was.

Eventually, it passed, and the cool wind of approaching fall met her skin instead. She wobbled, slightly, afraid to take a step forward. She didn't have too, however, because a guard had run to meet her.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "You're… Dragonborn."

Cry frowned at him, not really hearing what he was saying. She was still trying to get over the effects of whatever had just happened to her. "What?" she asked.

"In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power," the guard explained. "You've never heard those stories?"

Cry looked past him, towards where the dragon had fallen, and blinked when she saw that all that remained was its skeleton. It looked as though some force had taken its tough hide and all the parts that actually made it a dragon.

"That's what you did, isn't it?" the guard was asking when she looked back at him, feeling very confused. "Took the dragon's power?"

"I don't know what happened to me," Cry said, softly.

"There's only one way to find out," the guard decided. "Try to Shout. That would prove it."

Cry blinked at him. "Shout?"

"Yes, you know, like in the stories. With your Thu'um. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can shout without any training, the way the dragons do."

Cry wasn't comprehending _anything_ this guard was saying. The word _Dovahkiin_ kept repeating in her mind, as though it were calling to her, but she had no idea where it was actually coming from, nor any idea how she was supposed to get to it. She stumbled away from the guard as the others began to approach where the two of them stood, talking excitedly. Something was burning deep inside her, somewhere not exactly in her chest. She felt like she needed to focus on it, and then something would happen, something that she _wanted_ to happen would happen, but she had no idea what that was.

She struggled to get a grip on whatever it was that was burning inside her, on whatever it was that was calling her _Dovahkiin_. She didn't even know what that meant, but she did. That burning part inside of her knew what it meant, and it meant what the guard had called her, _Dragonborn_. The burning part inside of her also knew what the meaning of the word on the Word Wall in Bleak Falls Barrow had been, and it was excited that it knew it, and it wanted to Shout it, Shout it as loud as it could.

So, Cry let it.

_"Fus!"_

A force of energy burst out of her mouth, and flew away from her, into the air. She was startled by it, and she could see that she had startled the others as well, because they were all looking at her. "Sorry," she said, glad to hear that her voice sounded normal. She nonetheless clamped a hand over her mouth, suddenly afraid that she was going to Shout again.

"That was Shouting, what you just did!" the guard that had run up to her said.

"You have the Dragon Blood," another said, sounding awed. "Just like Tiber Septim."

"What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet," a third noted, glancing at the housecarl.

"Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you know nothing about," Irileth said, sniffing. "Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."

"You wouldn't understand, Housecarl," the first guard said. "You ain't a Nord."

"I've been all across Tamriel!" Irileth said in indignation. "I've seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."

Cry hadn't really been listening to this. She was still focused on the feeling inside of her, which was more gentle, now, less like a roaring fire and more like a candle flame. She wondered if it was always going to be there, if she would always be able to notice it. She had the sudden urge to Shout again, but she fought it down, nervous that it couldn't be good for her.

She decided that she wanted to return to Whiterun as soon as possible, and maybe even find a place to hide for a while, just until she could figure out what was actually going on.


	8. Chapter 6: The Greybeards

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story.**

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.**

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Cry made her way back to Whiterun at a fairly slow pace, still feeling rather unsteady on her feet. As she approached the stables outside the city, something that sounded almost like an avalanche erupted from the mountains. Cry stumbled as it shook the ground around her, and she placed her hands against her head, the noise echoing in her ears: "_Dovahkiin_!"

After a moment, it passed, and Cry lowered her hands, which were shaking. She did her best to steady them, releasing a slow breath. _Is this what it's like to go insane? _she asked herself, blinking. She certainly _thought_ it was.

She continued on until she'd reached Whiterun's gates, and she pushed her way into the city. The smell of burning coals from the blacksmith made her nose twitch, and she hurried past it as quick as she could. She made her way through the city and back up to Dragonsreach, grumbling a bit under her breath. If _this_ was how it was going to be, with her newly found_ Dragonborn_ powers, then it was going to be a definite problem.

It seemed that Jarl Balgruuf was expecting her, because the steward told her as much as she approached the dais. "Good, you're finally here. The jarl's been waiting for you."

"I'll bet," Cry muttered, moving past him towards the throne.

Jarl Balgruuf was studying a point in the distance, but he spoke as soon as she neared him nonetheless. "You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards." He was silent for a moment, and then he glanced at her. "So, what happened at the western watchtower? Was the dragon there?"

"The watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon," Cry told him, and Balgruuf smiled.

"I knew I could count on Irileth. But there must be more to it than that."

Cry hesitated. She really hadn't expected to return to Skyrim, and within a matter of days, uncover the fact that she was the first Dragonborn to have lived in _years_. She did not know if she wanted the responsibilities that came with being a Dragonborn, especially with the dragons returning after so long.

Still, Cry was nothing if not someone who always did what she was meant to do. If she was meant to be the Dragonborn, and to be involved in stopping the dragons from destroying Skyrim, and perhaps all of Tamriel, then so be it. There was no point hiding.

"When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it," she said, quietly, and Balgruuf let out a breath.

"So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you," he said.

Cry frowned. "The Greybeards?"

"Masters of the Way of the Voice," Balgruuf explained, although Cry didn't need him to. She knew perfectly well who the Greybeards were already. "They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World."

"Ulfric Stormcloak trained with them," Cry said, and Balgruuf tilted his head at her.

"He did, although that was years ago. What they want with you is no doubt a completely different reason than why they summoned Ulfric Stormcloak to High Hrothgar. The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout."

"They can teach me how to use it, then? Control it?" Cry asked, suddenly feeling hopeful. If there was someone who could teach her how to ignore the burning she was continually feeling in her chest, then she was definitely going to be paying them a visit.

Balgruuf nodded. "I believe that they can."

"Of course, a Dragonborn hasn't been summoned to High Hrothgar in centuries," said a new voice. A big man that bore a slight resemblance to Balgruuf approached. "Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora."

"Hrongar, calm yourself!" Proventus said, speaking up for the first time. "What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend, here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any signs of her being this… what, 'Dragonborn'."

_At least I _look_ the same_, Cry thought as Hrongar began to yell at the steward. _Even if I don't _feel_ the same._ _I'm glad my eyes haven't turned amber or anything. _

"Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci," Balgruuf said.

"I meant no disrespect, of course," Proventus continued. "It's just… what could the Greybeards possibly want with her?"

"That's the Greybeards' business, not ours," Balgruuf responded, and he looked at Cry once again. "Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue?"

"Nobody, I guess," Cry said, and she sighed outwards. "Do you think this has something to do with the dragons' return?"

"There must be a connection, but I could not tell you what it is. Perhaps the Greybeards can," Balgruuf replied, and then he sat up a bit straighter. "You have done Whiterun a great service, Dragonborn, by helping to kill that dragon. By my right as jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I name Lydia as your personal housecarl, and you have permission to buy property within the city, if you would like."

"I really don't need all that," Cry said, and he shook his head.

"I'll notify the guards of your new title, and I will have a weapon made for you, to serve as your badge of office." He offered her a smile. "Being summoned to High Hrothgar is a tremendous honor, Cry Silverworthy. I would head there immediately."

Cry nodded in agreement, and then she bowed to him, slightly. "Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf," she said.

"It is an honor to have you as thane of our city, Dragonborn," was his reply.

Cry turned around, and started to head back towards the doors of Dragonsreach, with more questions racing around in her head than before. If the Greybeards had summoned her, was it only to help train her, or did they know about the dragons' return, and how her revelation as Dragonborn was possibly connected to it? Or were they just as clueless as everyone else? What if Cry didn't learn how to get a hold on her Voice? What would happen to her? Would she always feel this uncomfortable inside her own skin?

She was so lost in thought that she almost didn't see the young, brunette woman that approached her as she neared the doors. Cry paused just before she ran into her, however, and let out a tight laugh.

"Sorry, I didn't see you. I'm kind of lost in thought."

The woman did not laugh as well. In fact, she didn't even smile. Instead, she bowed her head to Cry. "I am Lydia," she said. "The jarl has appointed me to be your housecarl. It's an honor to serve you."

"Oh, right," Cry said, blinking. How had news traveled so fast already? "Well, it's nice to meet you." She offered Lydia her hand. "My name is Cry." Lydia did not shake her hand, and Cry left it in the air a moment before lowering it. "So, uh, you're my housecarl. That's… that's interesting."

"As my thane, I am sworn to your service," Lydia said. "I will guard you, and all you own, with my life."

"Good to know," Cry said. "Well, how do you feel about taking a trip up to the Throat of the World?"

"I go where you lead," Lydia replied, and Cry sighed to herself.

"We'll have to get you out of your shell," she said, and then she gestured with her head. "Come on. We might be able to catch a carriage if we move quick enough."

With Lydia, her _housecarl_, behind her, Cry pushed her way out of Dragonsreach and into Whiterun, knowing that she was truly beginning her adventure, now. She just hadn't thought it would be something so serious.

The following day found Cry and Lydia reaching the top of the 7000 Steps, the path that led up to High Hrothgar. They had stayed at the inn in Ivarstead the night prior, and had started their trek after a night of sleep. Well, a night of _attempted _sleep, in Cry's case. She'd finally crashed somewhere in the wee hours in the morning, only to be shaken awake two or three hours later by Lydia, with the news that the sun was rising.

Ivarstead was a nice town, Cry had thought as they walked through it to get to the bottom of the mountain, and the first of the steps. She had never traveled this far east, had never stepped foot in the Rift, actually. The scenery was rather similar to that of Whiterun, just with many more trees.

Their trip up the mountain had been delayed when Cry had heard from the innkeeper that the barrows near the town were haunted, and she'd decided to investigate, against Lydia's better wishes, she had noticed. After reporting that the barrows had _not_ in fact, been haunted, the innkeeper had given her the claw that she needed to delve further in, and she had gone back to retrieve whatever treasure was there.

Instead of a treasure, she had found another Word Wall, with another Word of Power. This one she was actually able to catch the meaning of before it faded from her mind: _Kyne_.

She had no idea what the Divine's name could possibly have to do with a Shout, but she decided not to question it, and to wonder more at what else she had discovered while going through the ruin. Other than learning that Lydia was a well-equipped fighter (she had done well against the countless draugr), Cry had learned that the ice spells that some of them tried to use on her had no effect. Prior to discovering she was Dragonborn, ice magic had always made her feel sluggish, and tired. Now, however… nothing, just like the cold weather in Skyrim.

It was a shock to her system. Had awakening whatever was inside her that was Dragonborn awakened some type of resistance to ice magic? And if so, had it awakened some type of resistance to other kinds of magic as well? Dragons were magical beasts; they had to be, in order to Shout. Could it be that Cry was also magical, now that she knew that she had Dragon Blood within her?

The thought was not a comfort. Cry had never been one to condone using magic as a means of fighting, or even as a means of protection. In fact, like many Nords, she thought mages were cowards, people that were too weak to learn how to use a weapon. She knew that it was wrong of her to feel that way, especially now that she knew that having magic was inborn, but she still did not know if she would be relying heavily on her Shouts to get her out of hairy situations, since she had grown up learning that using magic was a shameful and cowardly act.

She did not say as much out loud, mostly because she didn't think she and Lydia were even close to the point where Cry could talk freely about how she felt about her newfound capabilities with her. She suddenly wished desperately for her sister, Faisley, or even Galmar. She was close with both of them, could talk about being Dragonborn and what it possibly meant with them, could talk about how… strange she felt, knowing that she was, at least in some sense, _part_ dragon. She could admit to them that she was scared, that she didn't know if the fate of Skyrim rested on her shoulders, and that, if it did, that she didn't think she could bear that weight.

But neither Faisley nor Galmar were there for her to talk to, and so she supposed she would have to go at it alone, at least until she felt comfortable enough with her housecarl to discuss these things, if she ever did.

She and Lydia both paused as they reached the steps of High Hrothgar itself. Cry had heard of the place before, of course; Ulfric had wrote to Faisley often with news of how his training was going, and Cry would have to sit and listen to the letters as Faisley read them over and over again. It was a large stone building, with the appearance of a temple, almost. Cry supposed that made sense.

She glanced at Lydia. "How do you think this is going to go?" she asked.

Lydia was quiet for a moment. "I believe that they will know you are Dragonborn as soon as you enter," she said, "if they do not know you're here already. I don't know what they will say to you, or even what they will do, but I don't think anything _bad_ will happen."

Cry exhaled, and glanced at High Hrothgar again. "Good enough for me," she said, and then she started up the steps with Lydia behind her.

Pushing her way inside, Cry was surprised to see how _dark_ it was. Candles were the only light source, it seemed, which was a surprise; Cry would have thought the Greybeards would love natural light. She hesitated as she entered the first room, which was rather large. There were different halls going off in opposite directions, and she thought there were doors near the back of the room, leading outside. There was no one nearby.

Cry glanced sideways at Lydia, who stood at her shoulder. Unsurprisingly, the housecarl had her hand on her sword's hilt, and was frowning into the dimly lit space.

"I guess I could go look for someone," Cry said after a moment of silence. It was _very _quiet in the temple.

"There will be no need for that."

Both women started as a figure in long gray robes approached where they were standing. He was an old man, had a long, graying beard. His eyes, however, were kind, and intelligent. He stopped a few steps away from where they were.

"So," he began after studying Cry for a moment. "A Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."

Cry considered it for a moment, and then she said, "You call me Dragonborn. What does that mean?"

"First, let us see if you truly are Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice," the man said, and then he turned and walked further into the room. As he passed, several unlit sconces suddenly glowed with fire, lighting the place up considerably. Cry was surprised to see that three other figures in the same robes had appeared, and were all standing at different points in the room.

The first turned to her again. "Do not be afraid," he said, probably seeing the expression on her face. "Your Shout will not harm us."

Cry licked her lips, and then focused on the burning inside of her chest. Just as before, it seemed ready to burst out of her, and she allowed it to, aiming it directly at the robed figures. "_Fus_!"

They staggered from the force of whatever it was that she had hit them with, but after only a few moments, they had straightened back up, and the first was speaking to her again. "Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar." He smiled at her. "I am Master Arngeir, and I am the Speaker of the Greybeards."

"Nice to meet you," Cry said. "I'm Cry Silverworthy, and this is Lydia." She gestured to her housecarl, who dipped her head to Arngeir.

"Tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?" Arngeir said after returning the nod.

"Well… you summoned me, I thought," she said. "I was hoping to find out what it means, exactly, to be Dragonborn, and why I am one."

Arngeir smiled again. "We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you."

"I've heard that I'm not the only Dragonborn to have ever existed," Cry admitted.

"Indeed not," Arngeir said. "Many have lived before you who held the title Dovahkiin, and bore the Stormcrown. You may already know that Akatosh was the one to bestow the gift of the Dragon Blood upon mortalkind. However, you are the first Dragonborn to have appeared in centuries; if there are any others in this age, it is not ours to know."

_Great_, Cry thought, feeling very small. _That means I might be the only Dragonborn who's going to stand up to these dragons. _

Aloud, she said, "Well, I'm ready to learn," she said.

"You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift," Arngeir said. "The question is whether or not you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you, which remains to be seen."

Cry followed his movements as he walked to a different part of the room than where the others were standing, leaving her in the center. Cry gestured for Lydia to move back, and she did.

"Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout. Now, we must see if you are willing and able to learn," Arngeir continued. "When you Shout, you speak in the language of the dragons. Your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power."

"That makes sense," Cry said. "When I first learned a Word of Power, I thought that I didn't know what it meant, but I think I do." Arngeir waited, and she ventured a guess: "It means 'force', right? Fus, force?"

"Very good," Arngeir said, and Cry relaxed a bit, feeling pleased with herself. "All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. 'Fus' is only one part of a more powerful Shout, known as Unrelenting Force." He gestured to another one of the Greybeards. "Master Einarth will now teach you 'Ro', the second word."

Master Einarth took a step forward. He waved his hand over the ground, and spoke the word, "Ro," softly as he did so. Amazed, Cry watched as the symbols for 'Ro' appeared in the stone of the floor. She approached the engraving, and that same feeling she had gotten in Bleak Falls Barrow and the barrows outside Ivarstead went through her. The meaning of the word echoed around in her head.

_Ro, balance, ro, balance._

"You learn new Words of Power like a master. You truly do have the gift," Arngeir said, and Cry blinked a few times to bring herself back to the present. She glanced at him. "Combining 'Ro' with 'Fus' allows you to better control and focus your Thu'um."

Cry nodded. It seemed pretty simple; knowing more Words of Power in each Shout would make the Shout stronger, and more easy to control. That was definitely helpful to learn.

The Greybeards had shifted, and they'd all returned to where they had previously been standing. "Learning a Word of Power is only the first step," Arngeir informed her. "You must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout."

Cry frowned. "But I know what it means," she said. "Why wouldn't I already be able to use it?"

"Knowing a Word's meaning is different from understanding it," Arngeir said. "However, as Dragonborn, you can absorb a dragon's life force and knowledge directly."

"So… a dragon's soul already understands the meanings, and that makes it a lot easier for me to learn and use them," Cry clarified, and Arngeir nodded. "Great."

"For now, as part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro'," Arngeir said, and Einarth stepped forward again.

Almost as though she had just killed another dragon, that same warmth she had felt before washed over and through her, and Cry held herself steady against it. After it had passed, she exhaled, and felt the need to reach up and make sure her hair hadn't gone wild.

"Now, let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um," Arngeir suggested, and Cry nodded in agreement, stepping back a few paces. "We will produce targets, and you will strike them with your Shout as soon as they appear."

Cry readied herself as a Greybeard she did not know the name of stepped forward. He cast some type of magic, and Cry immediately let her Shout go: _"Fus… Ro_!"

The target, which had taken the shape of a person, staggered, and then faded. Cry glanced at Arngeir, who nodded approvingly. "Again," he said, gesturing to the fourth Greybeard, who created a target of his own.

"_Fus… Ro_!" Cry's Shout rang around the room again, and the target disappeared.

"You learn quickly," Arngeir said, sounding amused, for some reason, probably because he could tell how pleased Cry was with herself. "Once more."

Einarth was the one to cast the form this time, and Cry put all she had into the Shout that hit this one: "_Fus… Ro_!"

The target staggered, and faded, and even Einarth seemed to suffer from the Shout for a moment, because he seemed to have to steady himself, before looking at Arngeir. Arngeir nodded to him, and looked at Cry, who was breathing heavily, almost certain her face was red, but she grinned happily. It felt good, Shouting.

"Your Thu'um is precise," Arngeir told her. "You show great promise, Dragonborn."

"Thank you," Cry said. "I feel pretty promising."

Arngeir offered her a thin smile, but it was not unkind. "We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri," he said, and gestured to the Greybeard that had cast the first figure. He turned and headed up a small set of stairs towards the door that Cry had noticed when they'd first entered High Hrothgar.

Cry turned and looked at Lydia, who had been standing quietly off to the side and watching all this. "Did you see?" Cry asked her, excitedly. "I feel like this is going really well."

"They haven't really mentioned the dragons, yet," Lydia said, eyeing Arngeir as he headed towards the doors himself. "Why do you think that is?"

Cry shrugged. "I'll ask about it later. Right now, I just want to learn some more!"

She practically skipped out into the courtyard, her apprehension of using magic completely forgotten. Why wouldn't she use such a powerful gift to help her? It made no sense not too. And with the dragons returning to Skyrim, there was just an abundance of information for her to learn about the different Words of Power.

Cry decided that she was going to be the best Dragonborn that she could be, even better than Tiber Septim. Stories would be told about _her_.


	9. Chapter 7: Assassin

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story.**

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.**

**3\. I am **_**taking liberties,**_** so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

"I don't understand, my Thane," Lydia said as Cry poked her head into a chest. "What are we doing here?"

"We're here to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller," Cry explained, not finding anything of interest in the chest. She let it close and stood back up, glancing down at the body of the necromancer that she had just killed. "I don't know why it matters that I can trek through ancient ruins, but I suppose it does, for some reason. Besides, there might be something else of interest down here."

She turned and headed further into the ruin of Ustengrav. She knew that Lydia had a point in being confused; it did not make sense for the Greybeards to have sent Cry in the ruins they were currently in to retrieve a _horn_ of all things, but she assumed it was just a test to see if she could figure out how to use her Thu'um to get her through tough situations. She had a feeling there would be several puzzles that she would need to solve via the use of her Shouts, and she felt that she would be able to get through them rather easily.

Before she had left High Hrothgar, she had been given another Word of Power, _Wuld_, which meant wind. It allowed her to fly across short distances at a rapid speed. Although it made her sick, she felt that it would be useful in some situations, like crossing rivers when she didn't want to find a bridge, and things like that.

She knew that it would be necessary to reach the horn. Apparently, Jurgen Windcaller had been the founder of the Greybeards, when the study of the Way of the Voice had become a religion of sorts. After realizing that mortalkind were using the power of the Voice as an unnecessary tool of violence, according to Arngeir, Jurgen Windcaller had meditated on the idea, and found that it should only be used in worship to the Gods.

Cry was interested in all the information of the establishment of the Way of the Voice, of course, but there would be plenty of time to learn about it later on. For now, she was going to focus on finding different Words of Power, and perhaps making sure that dragons did not attack other cities in Skyrim. She wanted to travel to all the different holds, perform some investigation into how each city was dealing with the dragons. She had not seen a dragon since the one that she had killed with the Whiterun guards at the watchtower, but something inside of her was certain that the return of the dragons had only just begun.

The question she most wanted to know the answer to was _why_ they were returning. Dragons did not simply appear because they wanted to; that much was evidenced by how many years it had been since one had been spotted in Skyrim. They were clearly returning for a reason, and Cry figured it was up to her to find out what that reason was.

She and Lydia made their way through Ustengrav, which was just the same as all the other ruins Cry had investigated had been. Draugr roamed freely, as did simple skeletons. None of these enemies were difficult to deal with, although they did eventually have an interaction with one who also knew how to use the Voice. He was the toughest foe they faced.

Eventually, they reached an area of the ruin that was deep within the ground, but looked like a natural cave. A land bridge connected one side of the cavern to the other, and Cry paused as she examined the cavern. It was beautiful.

"My Thane!" She turned, and saw that Lydia had wandered off, and stood before a familiar shape. Cry walked over to where she stood, and examined the glowing Word of Power on the wall. The meaning flashed through her mind as an echo, just as all the others had: _Feim, fade, Feim, fade._

Cry took a step back. She would not be able to use the Word until she managed to kill another dragon, and that was not something she wanted to do anytime soon. Even with the help of the guards of Whiterun, killing the one that had attacked the watchtower had been difficult; Cry could not even imagine what fighting one alone would be like.

She and Lydia made their way over the land bridge, and continued through the ruin. They faced several more draugr, but nothing so terrible as the one who'd been able to Shout. They came to an area void of anything but three large standing stones, arranged in such a way that made Cry think this was one of the puzzles she'd been expecting.

She walked forward to one of the stones, and was surprised when a loud sound came from it, and it lit up with an internal red flame. Ahead of her and the rocks, a gate that had been blocking the way ahead lifted. Cry could see what she needed to do at once.

"Lydia," she said, and the housecarl immediately came over. "Stand here." Cry pulled her into place next to the rock, and then stepped back, eyeing the gate. As she suspected, the light of the rock did not fade, and the gate did not lower again. Cry stepped up until she was standing next to the second rock, and the second gate in a series of three lifted. She nodded to herself, and looked at Lydia again. "Don't move, all right?"

Lydia nodded in agreement, and Cry turned around to face the gates. She exhaled a breath, focused on the burning sensation in her chest, what she'd decided was her Thu'um, and Shouted: "_Wuld_!"

She flew forward. As she passed the third rock, the third gate rose. Her Shout took her to just in front of the opening in the wall, and she sprinted through the space that had opened up by the raising of the gates. She had to roll to make it under the second gate as it began to close, and she dove through the opening that remained of the third gate. Through some magic, she supposed, as soon as she was on the other side, the two gates lifted again, and she turned around.

"Come on, Lydia!" she called, waving her housecarl forward. "I think we did it."

Lydia seemed apprehensive, but she nonetheless moved away from the rock and jogged towards where Cry waited for her. The gates did not fall again, and the housecarl seemed to relax a little. She met Cry on the other side, who was grinning widely.

"That was pretty great, right?" she asked, and Lydia allowed a nod.

"It was."

Cry looked around. The gates had led her into a small, dark hallway, that led to a set of stairs. Gesturing for Lydia to follow her, she mounted the stairs, and climbed to the top. They reached a room with a floor covered in what looked like traps. Cry held out her arm, examining the floor for a moment.

"This… I don't know how to get past," she admitted, glancing at Lydia, who was frowning at the floor as well.

"These look like the kind of traps that spew fire," she said after a moment, gesturing to one of the holes in the ground. "I think the best choice is to stick to the edges of the room. It could be that some of these aren't actual traps."

Cry nodded in agreement. "Sounds good to me." She walked over to the left side of the room, and took a step forward. The floor sank beneath her foot, but no fire appeared, and so she took another step. She could hear what, she assumed, were the sounds of traps that were supposed to be triggered, but nothing actually happened.

Surprised by this, she looked at Lydia. "I don't think these traps were reset since the last time someone was through here," she said.

"All the same, let me go ahead of you," Lydia said, moving to do so. Cry frowned at her.

"Why?"

"I'm meant to protect you," Lydia explained. "I would like to be the one to trigger the traps, so that if one of them does work, you will not be harmed."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I'll be all right," Cry assured, and then she turned and, without hesitation, sprinted across the floor. Sounds of traps being triggered echoed around the room behind her, but she gave them no thought, her only focus being to get across the floor. She did so, and she turned around, only to find that her original guess had been right. No fire had been triggered whatsoever.

She was surprised to find Lydia grinning as she crossed the floor herself, at a much slower pace. Cry scowled at her. "Laughing at me, are you?" she asked, and Lydia shook her head, but her grin remained. "Right."

There was a faintly familiar hissing behind her, then, and she turned to see two spiders advancing on them. Cry immediately pulled out her sword, and stabbed it through the one closest to her. Lydia moved around her and took down the other one, deftly avoiding the venom that it shot at her.

"Nice," Cry commented, pulling her sword out of the spider she had killed. She eyed the web-covered doorway ahead of her, and looked at Lydia. "I'd keep your sword out, though."

Even as she spoke, a larger spider appeared from the ceiling, hissing and spitting venom. Cry shrieked, and dodged out of the way. Lydia, however, immediately started slashing at it with her sword, yelling obscenities. Cry glanced up from where she had hidden her head in her arms, and watched as Lydia finished the big beast off. Yanking her sword out of it, she turned to look at Cry, more amused than ever.

Cry muttered a curse under her breath, and stood up, stalking over to the web-covered walkway. She sliced through the webs to clear the path, and headed through the wooden door on the other side. Lydia followed behind her.

Waiting on the opposite side of the door was a closed metal gate. Cry pondered on why it was lowered before she pulled the chain next to it. The gate lifted, opening the way into another chamber, this one filled with water. As she walked into it, and stepped onto the path leading to a solitary piece of land, there was a rumbling, and giant statues of what looked like some kind of bird suddenly pushed up through the water. Eventually, they became still, and Cry was willing to keep walking.

On the other side of the path was an altar of sorts. In the center was a hand, rising out of what looked like the top of a small stone temple. Instead of holding the horn, however, it held a single piece of parchment, folded over.

"Damn," Cry sighed, and she picked up the parchment, unfolding it to see what it had to say.

_Dragonborn,_

_I need to speak to you. Urgently.  
Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you. _

_A friend_

"What in the name of the Divines is this about?" Cry asked, rereading the message. Had someone already been through Ustengrav, knowing that she would come here, and left the note? It certainly seemed like that was the case.

Cry let out an unhappy breath, and passed the note to Lydia, who read it herself. After a moment, the housecarl looked up. "This doesn't seem safe," she said.

"Yes, well, I suppose there was bound to be people who would do this, call upon the Dragonborn's aid. I just hadn't expected someone to know who I am _already_," Cry said. She took the parchment back and stuck it in her pack. "Oh well. Let's see if there's anything else this place has to offer."

* * *

Because Cry was stubborn, the last thing she intended to do was go immediately to Riverwood to see what the 'friend' that had left her the note wanted. After discussing it with Lydia, who thought the next place the dragons might go would be Falkreath, they decided to head there instead.

Cry had been to Falkreath, but only once. Back then, the city (although it was more of a village, really, Cry thought), had only been one or two buildings. Now, it had spread significantly, but there was definitely a more somber tone within the limits that Cry hadn't noticed before.

Deciding to worry about that later, the first place Cry went was the inn, deciding that they were going to need a room. Lydia said she would take care of her own, and Cry decided not to argue with her. After paying the ten gold for one of her own, she deposited most of her things there, and closed the door, to signify that she was coming back. Leaving Lydia to her own devices, she then went to the jarl's longhouse.

The longhouse was much different than Dragonsreach, and Cry supposed that was credited to the fact that Falkreath was so much smaller than Whiterun. The jarl sat in a throne at the opposite end, and an Altmer stood off to the side. She was the first to eye Cry as she approached, and she leaned over to speak to the jarl, who was a rather disinterested-looking Nord, and a very young one, too. He offered Cry a level look as she paused a few steps away from where he sat.

"Well?" he finally prompted. "What is it that you want?"

Cry decided that the diplomacy she had learned as a young child was definitely going to be put to use during this conversation. "Pardon me, my lord, but I just had a few questions to ask you."

"No time. I have business to conduct," the jarl replied dismissively, waving his hand at her.

Cry let out a breath. This was going to be more difficult than she had thought. "My lord," she said, doing her best to be firm without sounding like she was better than him. "I understand that you are busy, but as a citizen, I have some concerns about the dragons that have recently been spotted in Whiterun."

The jarl eyed her for a moment, as did his steward. The High Elf did not look like she appreciated Cry walking in and immediately asking questions about such a serious topic, the way that she was.

"How about you fetch me a drink?" the jarl finally said, and Cry bristled. "None of that local piss, though. Real Black-Briar Mead, fresh from Riften."

"You want me to fetch you a drink produced out of Riften," Cry said, careful to avoid allowing her anger to get the best of her.

"Yes, and if you're not exhausted from your trek across Skyrim, we can discuss the… uh, _dragons._" The jarl was smirking, clearly amused with himself. Or maybe he was laughing at her. Cry assumed it was the second one.

"All right," she said, tightly, and then she bowed slightly to him. "I'll be back with your _Black-Briar Mead_."

She walked out of the longhouse, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. How in the world had _he_ become Jarl of Falkreath? She assumed out of some kind of shift during the war; no doubt somebody in Falkreath knew what had happened.

She returned to the inn, and went over to the bar. The innkeeper glanced at her as she arrived and leaned against the bar. "Visited the jarl, I see."

"Yes," Cry said. "What's his problem?"

"I don't think he has a problem," the innkeeper responded. "Siddgeir became jarl because the Imperials removed his uncle Dengeir from the throne. Since then, he's been letting his High Elf steward run Falkreath while he sits on his ass all day."

"Huh." Cry considered that for a moment. Siddgeir probably wasn't qualified to be a jarl, if that was the case. She debated using that against him, and then sighed to herself. There was no point, really. She might as well just get his mead and then try again after that.

"Do you sell Black Briar Mead?" she asked the innkeeper, who nodded, and disappeared below the bar for a moment. She reappeared, holding a bottle, and set it down on the counter. "Ten septims."

"Ten?" Cry asked incredulously, and she shrugged.

"Black-Briars take seventy percent of the prophet. I have to be able to make some money."

Cry sighed, suddenly incredibly happy that she'd gone into all of those ruins, because they had been plentiful in gold. She dropped ten gold on the bar, and then took the bottle, walking away again. Lydia poked her head out of the room she'd been given as Cry stepped out of her own, after dropping the bottle of mead onto the table.

"Are we going somewhere, my Thane?" she asked, and Cry sighed, closing the door to her room.

"I suppose we can poke around Falkreath, see what it has to offer." She paused. "I actually want to have a talk with someone."

Lydia nodded in agreement. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," Cry said. "Do whatever you want. We'll head out sometime tomorrow, so just be back here by noon, whatever it is you do."

With that, she turned and exited the inn, with every intention of finding Dengeir and figuring out exactly why he'd been removed from the seat of the jarl.

She found him more easily than she'd thought she would. Someone who she thought was him was wandering around outside the longhouse, looking despondent. Cry approached him. "Hello," she began, and he started, whipping around to face her, fire in his eyes.

"Who are you? What do you what?" he demanded, and she put up her hands.

"I just wanted to ask you a couple questions."

Dengeir continued to glare at her, but he did not walk away. Cry decided that that was permission to keep talking. "I heard that you used to be the jarl. What happened, exactly?"

Dengeir shook his head. "Truth be told, I refused to be jarl of a city that was crawling with Imperial spies. As soon as I found out about them all, the nobles were calling for a new jarl, so I figured the best thing would be for me to step down willingly."

"So you weren't removed, then," Cry said.

"I might as well have been," Dengeir grumbled. "It's not as though they would have given me a choice. I'm thane, now, and my idiot of a nephew is the jarl instead. He's a real friend of Cyrodiil, that one."

"What made you think that there were spies in Falkreath?" she asked him.

"Nothing too serious; the spies are paid well to do their work well, you know. Last night, however, I saw Lod the blacksmith writing a letter. I'd bet good septims that that was a letter that's going to be sent to the Imperials. He hesitated a moment, and then his eyes lit up. "You're new to Falkreath. Perhaps you could steal the letter for me, as proof!"

Cry frowned. The last thing she needed to do be doing was sneaking into a house and trying to steal a letter. Of course, if there were spies in Falkreath, that could be bad news for Ulfric and the war. And although Cry did not support him, she did not want any bigger problems forming due to failure to stop information from being sent to the Imperials.

So, she nodded again. "I'll get it for you."

"Good," Dengeir said, sounding pleased, and he walked away.

Cry sighed to herself. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Later on that evening, Cry returned to the inn, feeling pretty exhausted, and a little cold. For some reason, it had started to snow.

She had spent the entire day doing things for Falkreath's citizens, and had gone looking around in the woods surrounding the city itself. She'd come across a scary looking area that was under the road, almost. It had included a dark pool of water that Cry couldn't see the bottom of, and an evil door, that had spoken to her. Cry had not known the answer to the question it had asked, however, and so she'd walked away without responding, hurrying back to Falkreath as quickly as she could.

Now however, she just wanted a warm drink, and to get some sleep. It had been a long day.

She ordered her drink, and as she did so, she could feel eyes trained on her. She casually glanced over her shoulder, and noticed a hooded figure sitting in one of the chairs in the corner of the inn, watching her. She exhaled a breath, and turned forward again, accepting the steaming mug from the innkeeper. Without looking at the stranger again, she headed into her room.

She settled down at the table in the corner of it, unrolling her map. She examined it briefly, wondering which route would be the best to return to Riverwood. As she examined the map, she heard the floorboards outside her door creak, and then the door to her room was opening.

She glanced up, and blinked in surprised when the stranger she had noticed in the main hall lowered his hood. She knew this man.

The two of them stared at one another for a moment, and then she sighed. "Well," she said. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you again."

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you again, either," Hainin Marshal agreed. He put the bow he was carrying down, leaning it against the well, and placed his hand on the hilt of his dagger instead. "It appears, however, that the Gods chose to let us meet once more, and this time, one of us is going to die."

Cry stared at him, wondering if he was being for real. He recognized her, which was good to know, because that would probably make it easier to convince him not to kill her. Cry was nothing without her persuasion skills.

She leaned back her head and laughed. She couldn't believe that _that_ had been the line he'd chosen to go with. She could tell that Hainin was staring at her in surprise. When she'd finally got it all out of her system, she wiped a few tears from her eyes, and looked at him again.

"You won't be killing me today," she said.

She saw a shift in Hainin's expression, and relaxed. She hadn't expected it to be _that_ easy.

His hand left his dagger. "I'll have to tell the others something," he said, and she looked back up from her map. His hands came to rest on his hips. "I can't just say that I couldn't kill you because you kept my head from getting cut off."

Cry gazed at him for a moment. He was wearing a distinctive red and black armor, armor that was designed in a way she thought she recognized. He was probably part of the Dark Brotherhood. For whatever reason, her thoughts drifted to the door that she had found in the forest.

"I hadn't thought you to be an assassin," she said.

"Yeah, well… I wasn't up until a month ago. Maybe less," Hainin replied.

"And they sent you to kill me?" Cry questioned, surprised. He was fairly new, and she was an important target.

He shrugged. "I'm pretty good already. I've been training more than anything." He gestured to his bow, which was finely made. "I didn't know how to even hold one of these before, and now I hit every target."

"That's impressive," Cry said, smiling, because it was. "Good for you." She returned her gaze to the map, but kept part of her attention on Hainin. She heard him shift.

"I might be sent after you again, when we figure out where you are later on," he said.

Cry decided not to lift her gaze this time. "Then I guess we'll see what happens then, won't we?"

"I guess so." Hainin's voice was quiet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pick up his bow again. "It was nice seeing you again, uhm…" He trailed off, and Cry smiled again.

"Cry."

"Cry," he repeated. "I'm Hainin, in case you forgot."

She looked at him. "I didn't," she said.

"Right." He looked uncomfortable, and she loved it. "Thank you, for that. I guess… I guess I might see you again."

"I guess you might," Cry replied easily. "Have a good night."

"You too."

She watched him leave the room, and the door closed behind him. Cry chuckled, and looked down at her map once more. Something told her that she and Hainin Marshal would be meeting again several more times. Something_ inside of her _seemed certain that the two of them were going to form a bond that would be hard to break, although, she wasn't entirely sure what that something was.


	10. Chapter 8: Delphine

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story.**

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.**

**3\. I am **_**taking liberties,**_** so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

The following day, Cry delivered the Black-Briar Mead to Jarl Siddgeir, who told her to come back if she ever wanted something to do. She had rolled her eyes as soon as she'd turned away from him, and then she and Lydia had headed for Riverwood. Cry had decided there was no point in putting off finding out who the stranger that had left the letter was, or finding out what they wanted. She was the Dragonborn; people already wanted her dead, and people already wanted her to do things for them. Word spread fast.

They reached Riverwood as the sun was nearing its highest point in the sky. Cry paused just outside of the Sleeping Giant Inn, feeling apprehensive. Lydia glanced sideways at her.

"All right, my Thane?" she asked, and Cry exhaled.

"Yes," she said. "I just… I don't really know what to expect, to be honest. Anything could happen as soon as we walk inside."

Lydia placed a hand on her sword. "Do not worry," she said. "You have my protection."

Cry managed a smile at that. "Something anyone would be envious of," she agreed, and then she exhaled, slowly, before stepping up to the door, and pushing it open.

She did not immediately get shot with a poisoned arrow, which, she supposed, was a plus. She did, however, immediately suffer from Sven's terrible singing, which was a negative. Ignoring it to the best of her capabilities, she straightened her shoulders and walked over to the innkeeper.

"I'd like to rent the attic room, please," she said, following the instructions that had been left on the note.

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. "The attic room, eh? Well, we don't have an attic room, but you can have that one over there," she said, pointing.

Cry's shoulders fell. No attic room. What kind of terrible instructions had she been given, then? "All right, thank you," she sighed, handing over the ten gold. She then walked despondently into the room the innkeeper had pointed to, Lydia behind her.

"Damn," she muttered, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. "What are we supposed to do now, do you think?"

"I don't know, my Thane," Lydia replied, and Cry placed her hand in her chin. "At least we weren't attacked."

"You have a point," the Dragonborn admitted, although it was halfhearted. "Still. I'd been hoping for something to do."

"And you will have plenty, if what I hear about you is the truth." Cry raised her head as Lydia spun around, drawing her sword. The innkeeper stood in the doorway of the room. She had her hands up. "If you could call off your guard dog," she said to Cry, eyeing Lydia's sword.

"Lydia," Cry said after a moment, and the housecarl hesitated before putting her sword back into its scabbard. The innkeeper's hands lowered.

The two of them eyed one another for a moment. "Hard to believe that you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about," the innkeeper finally said, speaking to Cry. "I believe you're looking for this."

She produced a warhorn, and handed it to Lydia, who in turn handed it to Cry. Cry examined it for a moment, and then she looked at the innkeeper. "You're the one who left the note?" she said with the same incredulous tone that the innkeeper had used.

"We need to talk," the innkeeper said instead of responding. "Follow me."

She turned and left the room. Cry stood, and watched as she disappeared into a room across the hall. Cry glanced at Lydia, who still looked wary. "Stay here," Cry said to her. Lydia looked like she wanted to protest, but she didn't. Cry walked across the inn into the other room, and found the innkeeper waiting for her.

"Close the door," she said, and Cry did so after frowning at her. The innkeeper nodded, and walked over to the wardrobe against one wall. She opened it, and then pressed against the back panel. Cry blinked as it slid out of the way, revealing a hidden staircase that led down.

"Come on," the innkeeper said, starting down the stairs.

Cry followed. The small room at the bottom had a table in the center of it, as well as a chest and a rack that held a variety of weapons. There was an alchemy table in one corner, and a training dummy in the other. Cry frowned at this assortment of furniture. The creepy basement room was already strange enough; why did this innkeeper have all these other things as well?

The blonde woman had walked to the other side of the table in the center of the room, and was leaning her hands on it. She gazed at Cry for a moment without speaking, and Cry exhaled a breath.

"Are we just going to stare at one another, then?" she asked, and the innkeeper snorted to herself.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn," she said. "I hope they're right."

"Well, nothing that's happened so far has given me any reason to think otherwise," Cry replied, rather stonily. "So, what are you doing as an innkeeper in Riverwood, and _also_ traveling to Nordic ruins and stealing ancient relics?"

"You can't be too careful," the innkeeper responded. "There are Thalmor spies everywhere. I would not have even revealed myself if I hadn't heard about you. I knew that the Greybeards would send you after the horn, and so I went for it first, because I needed to speak with you." She paused. "My name is Delphine."

"Cry Silverworthy," Cry said after a moment, and then she glanced around. "So, I'm here. What do you want with me?"

"There's no need to be hostile. I'm not your enemy. I already gave you the horn." Delphine straightened up. "I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out."

Cry stared at her for a long moment. She supposed that there was no reason not hear her out; she had already come to Riverwood. "Go on," she said at last. "I'm listening."

"Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn," Delphine began. "I'm part of a group that's been looking for you - well, someone _like _you - for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you anymore, I need to make sure I can trust you."

"_You _need to make sure you can trust _me_?" Cry asked, gaping, and Delphine exhaled.

"If you didn't trust me, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place," she said, and Cry's shoulders straightened. She had a point.

"Fine," she said, "but why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"We remember what most don't - that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer," Delphine explained. "You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul." She paused, and frowned at Cry. "Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?"

Cry hesitated before replying. In truth, her first impression after seeing what had happened to the dragon at the watchtower in Whiterun was that it's soul had gone missing. She supposed that if that was true, then she had been the one to take it.

"I mean, I absorb some kind of power from dragons. That's all I can say," she decided on at last, and Delphine shook her head.

"This is no time to play the reluctant hero. You either are or aren't Dragonborn," she said. "But I'll see for myself soon enough."

Cry gazed at her for a moment. "You said that the Thalmor are looking for you."

Delphine sighed. "Yes. We're very old enemies. And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the dragons returning. But that isn't important right now. What _is_ important is that you might be Dragonborn."

"Wait, wait, hold on!" Cry said, putting up her hands. "What do you know about the dragons returning?"

"I'll tell you everything, if you prove to be the Dragonborn," Delphine told her. "What I can tell you now is that dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it."

Cry couldn't help it; she let out a laugh. "Do you know how crazy that sounds? What makes you think they're _coming back to life_?" she asked, and Delphine frowned at her.

"I know they are. I've visited their ancient burial mounds, and found them empty," she said, "and I've figured out where the next one will come back to life." She pointed at the paper that was spread out on the table in front of her. "Kynesgrove."

"So?" Cry asked, still not really buying into the 'coming back to life' thing.

"So, you and I are going to go there, kill the dragon, and see if you're actually the Dragonborn or not. If you are, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Cry crossed her arms. "All right," she said. "Let's say that I believe you when you say the dragons are coming back to life. How do you know the next one's going to appear in Kynesgrove?"

"You should know," Delphine said. "You got the map for me from Bleak Falls Barrow."

Cry blinked. "That's what the Dragonstone was," she said, quietly, and then she pressed a hand to her forehead. "Of course; Farengar said it was a map of dragon burial sites." She looked at Delphine again. "What's to say that there's any real organization to it, though?"

"Nothing, really," Delphine said. "It seems that the pattern has started in the southeast, near Riften, and then the burials have emptied out following a north eastern pattern. If the pattern holds, Kynesgrove is next. We'll need to get there before it happens."

Cry let out a breath. She wasn't sure how she felt about this. It all seemed drawn together based on minimal evidence. She still wasn't entirely sure if she trusted Delphine, _and_ she needed to bring the horn to the Greybeards. She wouldn't have time to do that if she went traipsing up to Windhelm, where Kynesgrove was located. And once it was proven that she _was_ Dragonborn, who knew what Delphine would have her doing?

Still, at least Delphine seemed concerned about the dragons' return. The Greybeards hadn't even mentioned it while she had been in High Hrothgar. If they really were coming back to life, Delphine seemed to think Cry was the only one who could make sure that they stayed dead permanently the next time they were killed. If she was right, then that meant Cry was the only one who'd be able to stop the return at all.

And that was something she felt needed to happen, less Skyrim be plagued by dragon for ages.

She sighed, and looked at Delphine, who patiently waited for her response. "All right," Cry said. "We'll travel to Kynesgrove, I'll kill the dragon, if you're even right about it coming back to life, and we'll talk about what happens next after that." She pointed at the innkeeper. "But only after you tell me everything you know."

"Fair deal," Delphine said. "Just let me get ready for travel, and we'll head out."

Cry nodded in agreement, and returned up to the ground floor of the inn. She exited the room, and found Lydia pacing in the main hall. She looked at Cry as she approached.

"What did she have to say?" she asked.

"She thinks the dragons are coming back to life, and we're going to go kill one so that I can prove to her that I'm the Dragonborn," Cry replied. "Until then, she won't tell me anything."

Lydia frowned. "Why doesn't she already believe you're the Dragonborn?" Cry shrugged.

"Something tells me she's pretty paranoid," she said.

Delphine emerged from the room Cry had left after several minutes, wearing full leather armor, and an interesting sword at her waist. She went and spoke to the man behind the bar for a moment, and then she came over to where Cry and Lydia waited for her.

"Ready?" she asked.

"We were waiting on you," Cry replied.

"Then let's go," Delphine said, and she headed for the door of the inn.

Cry and Lydia exchanged a glance, before Cry followed Delphine out of the inn with Lydia behind her. Whatever happened in Kynesgrove, Cry had a feeling that there was no turning back. She had decided to hear out what Delphine had to say, and it seemed that she had involved herself with the return of the dragons by doing so. Whether Delphine was right or not remained to be seen, and if she was, Cry was still waiting for the _why_ aspect to be answered.

* * *

The journey to Kynesgrove was spent mostly in silence. They did not stop to make camp, because Delphine was insistent on reaching the city as soon as possible, or they would miss the dragon. Cry was starting to feel the pains of a night without sleep as they crossed the border between Whiterun and Windhelm, but she did not say anything. She was the Dragonborn, after all; showing a weakness this early on would give Delphine even more of a reason to doubt her.

Lydia, however, seemed to sense her discomfort, and she fell back to walk with her as they neared the split in the road where they would head south again to reach Kynesgrove. "Are you doing all right, my Thane?" she asked, and Cry nodded.

"As good as can be expected. As soon as we're done with this, though, you're carrying me," she said, and Lydia smiled.

"If you need me to, I will, but I may drop you."

"A risk I'm willing to take," Cry said, and they shared a laugh.

"Hey!" Delphine called from up the road, and Cry rolled her eyes. Lydia snickered. Cry picked up her pace to catch up with Delphine, who had paused at the split in the road. She looked a bit disheveled, too, and Cry couldn't help but comment on it.

"Your time in innkeeper-itude having an impact on how easy it is to travel?" she asked, and Delphine glared.

"Kynesgrove is up this road," she said, gesturing. "Are you ready?"

"I mean, I'm very tired, but sure," Cry said, and Delphine sighed.

"Let's just go," she said. "Afterwards, you can sleep."

"We have a dragon to kill," Cry agreed, and then she headed up the road first.

As she walked up the road, she could tell that something was wrong. Kynesgrove was very small, barely more than an inn, and as she approached said inn, a young woman came running out of it.

"Stop! You don't want to go up there!" she exclaimed, seeing Cry, who paused. "There's a dragon; it's attacking!"

Cry frowned, and glanced around. The signs that she had come to notice as being indicative of a dragon attack were not present. She saw no fire burning, and she could not hear roaring or flapping of wings. She looked at the woman again.

"There's a dragon attacking?"

"Well, I don't know," the woman said. "There's one nearby, I know _that_! It flew in the direction of the old dragon burial mound."

Cry blinked, and then looked at Delphine and Lydia, who had approached by this point. They exchanged an apprehensive glance, before she turned back to the woman. "All right," she said. "Get everyone who's nearby closer to Windhelm. We'll take care of the dragon."

"You're all crazy, but good luck," the woman said.

Cry immediately pressed her way past the inn and up the path that took them up to the burial mound, which the woman had indicated. As they got closer, the ground began to shake beneath their feet, and she paused, glancing around. She could hear what sounded like… someone _speaking_.

"Do you hear that?" she asked, looking at Delphine.

"It can't be the dragon," Delphine replied, but then there was a sound that had grown familiar to Cry; a Shout.

Cry didn't hesitate any further. She walked up the path the rest of the way, and stopped dead. The black dragon from Helgen was hovering over the burial mound. He Shouted again, and a burst of white energy crashed against the mound.

"Look at that big bastard!" Delphine said under her breath. She grabbed Cry by the arm and pulled her down behind a rock. "Let's see what happens."

Lydia crouched down on Cry's other side, and all three of them peered over the rock to watch the black dragon as it Shouted at the burial mound again. Cry felt the hair on the back of her neck lift as it spoke: "_Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse_!"

Cry felt like she should know what the dragon was saying, but she could not interpret it fast enough using whatever it was inside her that knew the dragon language. The dragon Shouted again: "_Slen Tiid Vo!"_ and more energy connected with the burial mound.

She moved her hand to the sword at her waist as the ground covering the mound started to crack to pieces. The bones of a dragon pushed its way up through the ground into the open, where, seemingly out of nowhere, scales started to return to it. It gazed up at the black dragon, looking _submissive, _if that was even possible.

"This is worse than I thought," Delphine murmured.

The dragon that had come back to life spoke: "_Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik_?"

"_Geh, Sahloknir,_" the black dragon replied, and Cry inhaled sharply. Delphine glanced at her, but Cry kept her gaze on the dragons, finding what she was witnessing hard to believe. The dragons were _speaking_ with one another. "_Kaali mir_," the black dragon continued.

And then, much to Cry's disapproval and disbelief, both dragons looked towards where Cry was standing. She stood up straight, and walked out into the open to face them, seeing no point in hiding. The black dragon spoke to her: "_Ful, losei Dovahkiin_? _Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi_."

Cry _wished_ that she could offer a response, but she didn't even know what the dragon was saying to her, so she couldn't.

And, much to her surprise, the dragon spoke to her again, in the language she understood, this time: "You do not even know our tongue, do you?" he asked, gazing at her. "Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah."

"Excuse you!" Cry said, unable to stop herself.

The dragon turned towards the one it had brought back to life. "_Sahloknir, krii daar joorre_!"

That much Cry understood. The black dragon flew off, and the other one took to the air, already Shouting ice in her direction.

"Damn!" Cry shouted, and quickly dove out of the way of it, not ready to get struck even though she'd suddenly manifested a type of resistance to ice magic. She had a feeling that it wasn't much of a resistance to _dragon_ ice magic.

Delphine and Lydia had jumped in to help her as well, and they were being more brave about it. Lydia was shooting arrows into the sky at the dragon, and Delphine was trying to get it down on the ground by shouting obscenities at it.

Cry drew herself back up to a standing position, and retrieved her own bow. She shot an arrow in the direction of the dragon, and was rewarded when it jerked wildly in mid-air, roaring angrily. Cry followed its movements as it began to circle, and landed on the ground. Cry replaced her bow with her sword, and glared at it.

"Who was that other dragon?" she demanded of it, but Sahloknir responded by Shouting more ice at her. Cry barely had time to dodge out of the way. She twisted at the last moment, and slashed her sword across the dragon's face.

The beast roared, flinging its head backwards and away from her blade. Cry was tempted to go after it, but she knew that would only end in a serious injury for her, and so she stayed back, trying to be as light on her feet as she could in case she needed to jump out of the way again.

Lydia had joined her, and she was a little less fearful of getting attacked. She jumped directly in front of the dragon, and pushed her sword into the scales on the side of its neck. The dragon jerked, and Lydia flew backwards, landing hard.

"Lydia!" Cry exclaimed, not noticing as the dragon took to the sky again. She hurried over to her housecarl, only to find that Lydia had been knocked unconscious.

She quickly dragged Lydia behind a rock, to keep her out of harm's way, and then spun around again to find the dragon. It had landed further away from where it had previously, and Delphine was slashing at it with her oddly shaped sword. Cry sprinted towards it, the exhaustion she had felt before forgotten. Adrenaline was coursing through her, now, and she decided to let her Shout show as much: _"Fus… Ro!_"

The Words of Power struck the dragon in the side, turning its attention away from Delphine and towards Cry, who brought up her sword. "Let's go, then!" she said, and pointed her sword. _"Wuld_!"

She flew at the dragon, and her sword sank deep into its neck. The dragon let out a roar that wasn't nearly as powerful as the last couple had been. It was definitely beginning to feel the ache from the wounds that it was being dealt. On its other side, Delphine had just struck it again with a decisive slash, and the dragon's big head twisted towards her.

Cry, her sword still in the dragon's neck, had to pull her bow out again and rely on that instead. She fired arrow after arrow into the dragon, although none of them made any significant damage. Huffing, she tossed her bow to the side, and glanced around for something else.

Then she remembered Lydia.

She spun around, and spotted Lydia's sword lying on the ground where it had fallen from the housecarl's hand. She retrieved it, and turned to face the dragon again. It was still fighting with Delphine, who was handling her own quite well, Cry thought, for someone who probably hadn't had any reason to pull out a blade in a long time.

Cry focused her attention on herself, however, and examined the dragon, wondering what the best way to do this would be. She wanted to get _on_ the beast itself, and reach the back of its neck, where she though she might be able to do better damage. Still, she didn't exactly know how to get up there.

_Well_, she thought, twirling Lydia's sword in one hand. _Guess the first step is to _try_. _

She ran towards Sahloknir, its attention still focused on Delphine, and leapt. She managed to get a hold on a few scales with one hand, and using as much upper body strength as she could muster, she hauled herself onto the dragon's back.

Almost at once, it was aware of what she had done, and its head thrashed wildly as it tried to throw her off. Cry held on tightly with the hand not holding the sword, and thrust the sword into the air to get as much force behind what she was about to do as possible.

"Time to be dead again, big fellow!" she shouted, and then she pushed the blade down with as much strength as she could. The dragon let out one last roar, and then it went slack, collapsing to the ground. Cry stumbled, and pulled Lydia's blade out of it. She then slid off of the dragon's back, and as soon as she was on the ground, the dragon's soul rushed towards her.

This time, she didn't stumble from the heat and the force of it. Instead, she walked towards Delphine while she absorbed it, holding Lydia's blade at her side. Delphine gaped at her.

"It's true, isn't it?" she asked. "You really are Dragonborn."

"That's me," Cry said, exhaling.

"I owe you some answers then, don't I?" Delphine asked, and Cry offered her an exasperated look. "Go ahead, ask away," Delphine invited. "I said I'd tell you everything."

"Well, first of all, what do you know about _that_?" Cry demanded, gesturing towards where the dragon, now dead and _for good_, hopefully, lay.

"Not a damn thing," Delphine responded, crossing her arms. "I was just as surprised as you to see that black dragon here."

"I've seen that dragon before," Cry said, and Delphine frowned. "It was the one that attacked Helgen when Ulfric Stormcloak was about to be executed by the Imperials."

"Interesting," Delphine said under her breath. "The same dragon…" She trailed off, and cursed. "We're blundering around in the dark, here! We need to find out who's behind this."

"What group did you say you were part of, again?" Cry asked here, and Delphine shook her head.

"I didn't. I'm one of the last members of the Blades."

"Who - who in the Nine Divines are the _Blades_?" Cry exclaimed.

"A very long time ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn, the _greatest_ dragonslayer. For the last two hundred years, since the last Dragonborn emperor, the Blades have been searching for a purpose, and now that the dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear; we have to stop them."

Cry couldn't agree more. "All right," she said. "So, what's our next move?"

"I think we need to find out who's behind it all," Delphine said, "and I think the Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't behind it, they'll know who is."

"Why do you think it's the Thalmor?"

"Think about it. The Imperials capture Ulfric; the war is basically over. Who benefits from the war continuing _aside_ from the Thalmor? No one." Delphine looked disgusted. "Besides, now the dragons are attacking all over, and both Skyrim and the Empire are weakened. The Thalmor are probably having a field day because of that."

Cry supposed she had a point. "All right, so we need to find out what the Thalmor know, then," she said. "Any ideas?"

"The Thalmor Embassy is our best bet," Delphine said. "If we can figure out a way to break in there…" She paused, and sighed. "But that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach _me_ a few things about paranoia."

"So, how _do_ we get in?" Cry questioned, and Delphine considered it for a moment.

"Give me a few days," she said at last. "I think I can come up with something, and you'll have time to do whatever else the Greybeards want you to do. Meet me back in Riverwood when you can."

"All right," Cry said in agreement.

Delphine jogged away, and Cry went first to retrieve her own sword from the dragon, and then she went over to where she had put Lydia. The housecarl was beginning to come too, and she sat up with a groan, rubbing the back of her head.

"Gods," she said, blinking up at Cry. "What hit me?"

"The ground," Cry replied. "Up you get. We need to go to High Hrothgar, and then get back down to Riverwood."

"Wait, what?" Lydia asked. She stumbled to her feet, and managed to keep them. Cry handed her her sword, and she blinked at it before sliding it into its scabbard. "What are we doing?"

"Well, we're going to bring the horn to the Greybeards, and then we're going to Riverwood to discuss how to break into the Thalmor Embassy with Delphine," Cry told her. "Come on."

She turned and started for the main road again, hoping that they would be able to catch a carriage to Ivarstead. Lydia, undoubtedly more confused than she already had been, followed without argument, rubbing the back of her head.


	11. Chapter 9: The Plan

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story.**

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.**

**3\. I am **_**taking liberties,**_** so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

High Hrothgar was just as quiet as it had been the previous time, but it was lighter, now. Cry found Arngeir crouched in front of a window, his head bowed. She hesitated a bit next to him, not sure if it was all right to interrupt.

She didn't have to, however. After a moment, Arngeir lifted his head, and stood. "So, you've found the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller," he said, and Cry nodded, holding it out to him. He took it, and set it down in front of the window instead. "Well done. You have passed all the trials. Come with me. It's time for us to recognize you formally as Dragonborn."

Cry did as he said, and followed him to the main room of High Hrothgar. She found it hard to believe that there was a ritual or something that they followed, and had to assume that they were making this all up as they went. Not that it mattered to her. She wouldn't mind some kind of ceremony that made everything seem legitimate. The other Greybeards had already gathered in the main room, probably having sensed her arrival. They all looked at them as Cry and Arngeir entered the room, and seemed to shift in stance.

"You are ready to learn the final word of Unrelenting Force, 'Dah', which means 'push'," Arngeir said as he took his place. One of the other Greybeards waved his hand over the floor, and spoke the Word. Like before, the runes appeared on there. Cry leaned over them, and the Word flashed through her head: _Dah, push, Dah, push._

She looked at Arngeir, who gestured to the same Greybeard that had said the Word. "Master Wulfgar will now gift you with his knowledge of 'Dah'."

And, just like before, Cry received the knowledge just like she had received the souls of the dragon in Whiterun and Kynesgrove. She closed her eyes as she took it in, smiling to herself. Knowing a complete Shout was an interesting feeling.

When the warmth had passed, she turned to Arngeir again. "You have completed your training, Dragonborn," he said to her. "We would Speak to you. Stand between us, and prepare yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards, but you are ready."

Cry did as he said, and stood in the center of the four Greybeards, who were each standing at a different point of the room. She steadied herself, hoping that she wouldn't look like a fool before this was all over.

Before she knew it, the Greybeards were speaking to her, all at once, and all with the power of a Shout. There was no anger behind the words, however, no attempt to harm her. It was pure _energy_, pointed towards her and going through her, leaving behind a mark that she didn't think would fade, ever. She did not know what the words they spoke were, but it didn't matter; she felt as though they were causing a shift, a shift that would truly mark her as the Dragonborn and, if Delphine was right, the person who would save Skyrim from the dragons.

When the Greybeards had finished Speaking to her, she bowed her head, barely able to hold back a grin. She felt powerful, now, like she could handle anything that the world decided to throw at her. She imagined that was a strength she would be needing in the foreseeable future.

_"Dovahkiin,"_ Arngeir said, and she turned to face him. "You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you."

And, just like that, the spell was broken. The Greybeards wandered away, and Cry went to Arngeir, who seemed to have sensed she would want to speak with him. As she walked towards him, she debated mentioning Delphine, and decided against it. The Greybeards were all about peace; if they were to know she meant to cause a ruckus with the Thalmor in reference to the dragon attacks, they would pitch a fit.

"What exactly was all that, just now?" she asked him. "I feel different."

"We spoke the traditional words of greeting to a Dragonborn who has accepted our guidance," Arngeir explained. "The same words were used to greet young Talos, when he came to High Hrothgar, before he became the emperor Tiber Septim."

"And what's the translation, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Ah! I sometimes forget that you are not versed in the dragon language as we are," Arngeir said, chuckling. "This is a rough translation: _Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it._"

"A Stormcrown?" Cry queried, liking the sound of that very much, and Arngeir nodded, smiling slightly in amusement. "Interesting."

"Yes," he agreed. "I suppose that, if you care about such things, your appropriate title would be Cry Silverworthy, Ysmir and Dragon of the North, Bearer of the Stormcrown, and Dragonborn."

"That's a lot of… stuff," she said, and he laughed again.

"Don't worry, Dovahkiin," he said. "You will adjust to the heavy weight that has been placed upon your shoulders. The Gods would not have chosen you as Dragonborn, if they did not feel you could handle it."

With that happy sentiment, Cry returned outside where she had left Lydia. The housecarl straightened up from where she leaned against a rock. "How'd it go?" she asked.

"I have a _Stormcrown_," Cry said, cheerfully, and Lydia offered her an amused grin.

Together, they headed back down the mountain, and towards Riverwood, where Delphine waited, and hopefully with a plan.

* * *

"The plan is to _what_?" Cry demanded once she had listened to Delphine explain what she was thinking in terms of a way into the Thalmor Embassy.

"You're going to sneak into the party that Elenwen is holding. I have a contact who will make sure you can get into the Embassy itself. What happens after that is up to you," Delphine said, listing just the main points of what she plannned to have Cry do.

"And why am I going in alone, again?" Cry queried.

"I'd attract the wrong kind of attention," Delphine told her. "They don't know you at all, yet. It'll be easier for you to get in undetected."

Cry sighed to herself, and looked at Lydia, who seemed to be thinking that the last thing she meant to do was willingly allow her thane into the Thalmor Embassy unprotected. Still, Cry knew this would probably be their only chance.

She turned back to Delphine. "All right," she said. "How're we doing this?"

"You'll meet my contact, Malborn, in Solitude, at the Winking Skeever. He'll take any gear you think you'll need inside the Embassy, and store it for you, so that you can get it once you're in," Delphine said. "I'll meet you at the Solitude stables, with an invitation to the party and something suitable to wear." She paused. "Any other questions?"

"Yes, about this Malborn. How do you know we can trust him?" Cry asked.

"Don't worry about him," Delphine said. "He's not a dangerous character like you, but he hates the Thalmor at least as much as I do. He's a wood elf - the Thalmor wiped out his family back in Valenwood during one of their purges that we never hear about. They don't know who he really is, which means we're lucky enough to have him serving drinks at the Ambassador's parties."

Cry let out a breath. "All right," she said. "I guess I'll see you in Solitude."

"Don't forget to prepare the things you'll be giving to Malborn," Delphine said. "He's impatient."

"Got it," Cry mumbled, and then she turned and headed up the stairs without looking at Lydia. The housecarl nonetheless followed after her, and Cry could feel her discontent as they walked towards Whiterun, where Cry hoped to catch a carriage to Solitude, because she had no intention of walking.

"My Thane," Lydia finally said, speaking up just as they came within sight of Whiterun itself. "I don't think this is a very good plan."

"I know," Cry sighed, "but what choice do I have, Lydia? If the Thalmor do know something about the dragons, this might be the only chance to find out what. I'll be fine." She paused. "Did Jarl Balgruuf say that I would have permission to buy a house in the city?"

"Yes," Lydia said, frowning at her. "That's an honor bestowed on all thanes."

"Good," Cry said. "I don't want to have to make you wait in Dragonsreach for me."

"I'm coming with you to Solitude!" Lydia said, even as Cry picked up her pace a bit, bypassing the stables.

"No," Cry replied over her shoulder. "This is something I have to do alone. There's no reason to drag you all the way there for you to just get left behind when I head to the Embassy."

She paused, and reached for her pack. She didn't even know how much gold it would cost to buy a house. She supposed that she might be able to talk down the price a bit, both with her position as thane and her persuasion skills, but she supposed it would be good to check to see if she had at least a suitable amount.

Her coin purse was very heavy, and she had three of them. She supposed it would be enough.

Meeting with Proventus, she realized that hassling was going to be a lot harder than she had thought.

"Please?" she finally resorted to, holding her hands together. "I don't want to have to make my housecarl stay here, and having a house in the city will be _really_ useful."

"I'm sorry, Dragonborn, but the price stays at five thousand," the steward said, barely looking up from the book he was writing inside of. "I cannot make exceptions, even for you."

Cry sighed. "Honestly? Not even a little? What if… five thousand, for the house _and_ furnishing?"

Proventus glanced up from the work he was doing, and Cry offered him a grin, that she hoped looked convincing. "Do you _have_ five thousand gold?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," Cry said, "but!" She pulled out all three coin purses, and dropped them onto the table he was seated behind, making sure that they landed with satisfying _thud_s. "I have that."

Proventus frowned, a little. "And how much _is_ that?"

"Like I said," Cry replied, slowly, "I don't know."

The steward stared at her for a moment, and then he exhaled and closed his book, pushing it off to the side. He pulled one of the coin purses closer to where he was, and opened it. After peering inside of it, he lifted his gaze to meet hers again. "You want a house."

"Yes," Cry said, patiently. "And whatever furnishings you can put inside of it."

Proventus sighed, and lugged the other two coin purses towards him. "Fine," he said. He turned away for a moment, and Cry allowed herself to do a small dance. She hadn't thought she would get anywhere with this man.

Proventus turned back around, holding a steel key. He held it out to her. "This is for Breezehome," he said. "It's located in the Plains District, past the blacksmith. I'll have it furnished as soon as I am able."

"Thank you," Cry said, relieved. "Really. I appreciate it."

Proventus shook his head, and turned back to his work.

Cry scampered away before he could change his mind. Lydia met her at the doors to Dragonsreach. "Well?" she asked.

"We have a house," Cry replied. "I don't know when it's going to be furnished, but we have a house."

Lydia looked crestfallen. "I suppose I'll stay here in Whiterun to make sure they can get inside," she mumbled, "when they do bring the furnishings."

"That's a _great_ idea, Lydia!" Cry said, pleased. "You stay here, and I'll be able to head to Solitude even sooner." She beamed at her housecarl. "You'll be all right, here, won't you?"

"I'll be all right, sure," Lydia replied. "It's _you_ I'm worried about."

Cry waved her hand dismissively. "I'll be fine," she said. "Honestly. What could go wrong?"

"Plenty of things," Lydia replied as they reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to Dragonsreach. "You are sneaking into the Thalmor Embassy to look for information that they might not even have."

Cry offered her a sideways look. "Do you really have such little faith in me?"

"I have a lot of faith in you," Lydia said, "but the Thalmor are definitely a force to be reckoned with." The housecarl shrugged. "I feel like I have a right to worry."

"Don't worry, Lydia," Cry said. "If I die, I give you permission to kill all the Thalmor at the Embassy."

Here, Lydia cracked a smile, and Cry knew she had her. "Thank you, my Thane," Lydia said. "That makes me feel much better."

"That's what I was going for," Cry said, pleased with herself. She pressed the key to her new home into Lydia's hand. "I'll see you in a few days, I promise."

Lydia dipped her head, and Cry picked up her pace, jogging through the Plains District and towards the gates of Whiterun. She pushed her way through them, and then hurried towards where the carriage driver usually parked outside of the Whiterun stables.

As she went, she realized that she had no money left, and therefore no way to buy a carriage ride to Solitude.

"Damn," she cursed under her breath, and paused, exhaling. Where was she going to come up with twenty gold pieces?

She glanced sideways, and blinked. A small group of Khajiit had set up camp just outside the first gate. She had heard of these traveling merchant bands. Hopefully, she would be able to use her persuasion skills to talk the merchant into taking something she had for a good amount of gold.

She went over the cat that was seated on a mat in front of one of the tents. The cat looked up at her, eyes narrowing against the sun.

"Welcome," he said. "If I cannot serve you, I am sure that one of my other traders can."

"Hi," Cry said, bowing her head slightly. "I uh… well, this is going to sound strange, but I need to sell something."

"Ah," the cat said. "I have traveled far across Skyrim to serve you, traveler. What do you have to offer me?"

Cry was relieved. She probably had something that was worth at least twenty gold. She pulled her pack off, and searched through it for a moment. Her hand brushed against something cold, and she pulled it out into the open. It was the Sapphire Claw that she had used to get into the Nordic ruins outside of Ivarstead.

The Khajiit hissed with delight as soon as he saw it. "For this, I give you three hundred gold," he said, purring.

Cry blinked, and handed the claw over. She hadn't expected to receive _that_ much.

After the transaction had concluded, she thanked the cat, and moved away from the camp, pleased with the convenience of trading caravans.

After handing over her twenty gold to the carriage driver, she pulled herself up into the back of it, and leaned back to relax on the way to Solitude, since she would be facing a large mess once she reached the city. She did, however, take the time to organize her things that she planned on giving Malborn, including her sword and the better armor that she had. Currently, she wore a simple blue dress, which made her feel extremely unprotected.

Still, she would need her armor inside, and she had a feeling the Thalmor wouldn't let her saunter into the Embassy wearing it. Better yet, she didn't think _Delphine_ would let her even _close_ to the Embassy wearing her armor. Most likely, Delphine would shove her into some itchy, high-end clothing, so that she would look like she belonged.

_That's fine_, Cry thought, settling back again after making sure she had all her things ready to hand over. _As long as I don't have to wear it for longer than… maybe an hour._


	12. Chapter 10: The Thalmor Embassy

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story.**

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.**

**3\. I am **_**taking liberties,**_** so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

When she reached Solitude, the first thing she walked into was an execution, which was always a great way to start a day. The man being executed, according to someone else who was watching it, was the man who had let Ulfric Stormcloak leave the city, after his fight with High King Torygg. His name was Roggvir. Cry was surprised to find that it had taken them so long to get around to actually executing him.

She paused in the center of the crowd that had formed, and watched as Roggvir was given his charges, and given a chance to speak. He said what most Nords in the Stormcloak army believed, that Ulfric had challenge Torygg, and beat him in fair combat. Cry thought that that might be the truth of it, but it wouldn't be enough to free him from the fate he had created for himself by allowing Ulfric to flee Solitude after he'd killed the high king, fair combat or not.

The execution was completed quickly enough, and the crowd parted almost as soon as his head was separated from his body. Cry sighed to herself, watching them disperse, and then she turned and headed for the Winking Skeever, which was directly across the square from the execution place.

_Lovely view_, Cry thought in disgust as she pushed her way into the inn. She paused just inside, looking around. Nobody matching Malborn's description waited at any of the tables, or anywhere inside. The innkeeper called to her, friendly, but Cry ignored him, frowning.

She went back outside, and glanced around. The crowd had mostly disappeared, only a few lingering behind, and mostly to just chat with one another. Still, she did not see any wood elf.

Cry rolled her eyes to herself. So much for easily accessible help, Delphine.

She made her way deeper into the city, passing by an alley, before deciding that it was probably useless to try and look for him. She would have to ask around, see if anyone else had seen a Bosmer matching Malborn's description.

She turned around, and headed back the way she came, only pausing when she heard someone call her name. She turned, and found Hainin Marshal standing behind her, having just come out of an alleyway between two buildings. She smiled, and walked over to where he was.

"Hello, Hainin," she greeted. "Here to actually kill me this time?"

"I was going to," he said, and she saw as much from the way he was busily trying to put a dagger away into a scabbard on his waist, "but then I saw that you looked lost. What are you doing here?"

Cry sighed. "I was supposed to meet someone, at the inn, but he wasn't there. I'm wondering if maybe he came outside to watch the execution, but then didn't go back inside."

"Oh." Hainin glanced over his shoulder, towards where the execution had just happened. "Maybe you could try again later?" he suggested after a moment, looking at her again.

"I'm on a time crunch," Cry said, and then she tilted her head hopefully. "Do you think you could help me find him?"

Hainin studied her for a moment, and she saw him fight with himself, before he nodded, once. "Sure, I'll help," he said, and Cry grinned in relief. "Who is he?"

"An elf," she said. "His name is Malborn."

"Well, then he shouldn't be too hard to find," Hainin said, and Cry looked at him, confused now. He glanced at her, and lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

"Why shouldn't it be hard to find him?" Cry asked. "Aren't there a lot of elves in Solitude?"

Hainin slowly shook his head. "Not since the civil war started." He frowned at her. "How long were you away from Skyrim?"

Cry glanced past him, looking towards the place where a man had just lost his head. "Too long," she murmured, and she exhaled a breath.

There was silence for a moment, and then Hainin cleared his throat, and she blinked, before looking at him again. "Maybe you just missed him in the crowd," he said. "Let's try the inn again."

Cry lifted her shoulders. "Better than waiting around and hoping I can find him somewhere." Hainin nodded in agreement, and gestured for her to lead the way. She did so, trusting him despite the fact that his entire reason for being in Solitude just then was to kill her. She knew that he was debating it, but she had hope that he wouldn't. In fact, she _knew_ that he wouldn't, although she wasn't sure why she knew.

Whatever the reason, she was still alive as she pulled open the door to the Winking Skeever again. Hainin poked his head inside as well, and then he nudged her after a moment, and nodded towards one table. There, a wood elf sat, alone, glancing around.

"That him?" Hainin asked her.

"Probably," Cry responded, and she glanced up at him. "Thank you."

"I didn't do much," he said, and she smiled.

"You didn't kill me," she told him. "That counts for something."

"I'll have to next time," he said. "I'll have run out of excuses by then."

Cry sighed, but she was still grinning. "I suppose if you really _have_ to," she said, and Hainin rolled his eyes. She smirked. "I guess I'll see you then."

With that, she moved away from him, and towards the table where the Bosmer sat. She settled down in the chair across from him, and he eyed her, warily.

"You the one Delphine chose?" he asked, and she nodded, once. "Huh. Well, whatever. Give me whatever you need me to sneak into the Embassy for you, and then be on your way. I have to get to the Embassy soon, to set up."

"All right, hold on," Cry said, holding up a hand. "I have some questions, first."

Malborn tapped the table impatiently. "Fine," he said, "but make them quick."

"How are we doing this, exactly?" she asked him.

"Didn't she tell you anything?" Malborn demanded. "I'm going to be bartending at the party. You're going to cause some kind of distraction. I'll sneak you into the back, where you'll grab your things, and then figure out whatever it is you need to." He frowned at her. "Hopefully, without giving me away."

Cry scowled at him. "Fine," she said, and then she grabbed her pack, and shoved it towards him. Her sword clanked from the side of it, and it was Malborn's turn to scowl.

"Do you really need _all _this?" he asked, and she raised an eyebrow. He huffed. "Fine. I'll see you there. Try not to draw more attention to yourself than necessary."

She watched as he stood up and walked away, her bag slung over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes to herself again, and then pushed herself up from the table as well. She lingered in the inn a moment, giving Malborn time to leave Solitude ahead of her. When she was sure he was far enough away, she made her way outside again, and headed for the gates.

Just like she said she would be, Delphine waited for her at the stables outside the city. And, just like Cry had expected, she had a set of clothing with her. "Change into this," the Blade said as soon as she spotted the Dragonborn.

"Do I have to?" Cry asked tiredly, taking the clothing and shoes from her.

"You'll want to, if you want to be allowed into the party," Delphine replied. "Go on."

After Cry had changed into the clothing (it _was_ itchy, she was displeased to learn), she returned to where Delphine sat on a rock, waiting. She was handed a piece of parchment, and she glanced down at it. It was an invitation with her name on it, for the Embassy's party.

"How'd you manage to get this?" she asked Delphine, who shook her head.

"Another time, perhaps. We have to get going." She gestured toward a carriage that sat nearby. "I hired that for you, to take you to the Embassy." The Blade fixed her with a look. "You know what you're going to do?"

Cry nodded. "Get in, find the information we need, anything that might be important, and get out."

Delphine let out a breath. "Good enough, I suppose," she said. "Good luck, Dragonborn. I'll be waiting for you in Riverwood. Try not to get killed."

"Thanks," Cry said, and she turned away, heading for the carriage. She climbed up into it, suddenly very aware that she did not have her sword, or any type of protection. She glanced at Delphine as the carriage began to roll away from the stables, and head north. Hopefully, the Thalmor at least knew something more than the two of them did, or they would be just as lost as they already were.

* * *

Getting inside was actually incredibly easy, after she had handed over the fake invitation that Delphine had given her. It was getting past the Thalmor Ambassador, Elenwen, that made things more complicated.

The Altmer was waiting inside to greet guests as they entered, and Cry was no exception. The only problem was, unlike all the guests she had already greeted, Elenwen had no idea who Cry was.

"Welcome, I don't believe we have met," was the first thing she said, and Cry knew that she would have to be very careful about what she said. "I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And… you are…?"

"You're Elenwen?" Cry asked, hoping to sound amazed. "I've heard so much about you!" _I can't tell her my name; I'll be in a lot of trouble if I do, and this goes poorly. _

The Altmer chuckled. "All good things, I hope," she said, smiling complacently. "But, you have me at a disadvantage. I am afraid I know nothing of you. Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this… ahem, to Skyrim?"

Before Cry could think up a response that wouldn't connect her to anything that might have been known about the Dragonborn at that point, someone was speaking up from beyond Elenwen: "Madame Ambassador, I'm so sorry to interrupt."

Elenwen rolled her eyes upwards, and turned to face whoever it was that had spoken. "What is it, Malborn?"

Cry was relieved. Malborn stood behind a bar, looking sheepish. "It's just… we've run out of the Alto wine. Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red?"

"Yes, of course," Elenwen said, clearly annoyed. "I told you not to bother me with such trifle matters."

"Yes, Madame Ambassador," Malborn said, and he turned away.

Elenwen offered Cry a look, one that Cry returned, one that said _servants, am I right?_ although it disgusted Cry to no end to do so. "We'll have to talk more later," the Altmer said. "Please, enjoy yourself."

Cry watched her walk away, towards one of the higher ups that had been invited, and then she herself went over to the bar.

"What can I get you, madame?" Malborn inquired.

"Nothing, except maybe some advice?" Cry responded, and Malborn gestured.

"Figure it out. Get someone to cause a scene, I don't know. Do whatever it was Delphine thought you could do, and _then_ come talk to me," he hissed, lowly, and then he turned away again.

Cry huffed a bit, and had to take a moment to calm herself down before turning away from the bar, and examining the crowd. She imagined that, perhaps, she should know who some of these people were, but she didn't. In fact, most of them all looked the same, and she could only discern men from women. She had no idea who they were, what they did, or why they had been invited to this party.

Until she spotted Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath, that was.

She made her way over to him, and he turned away from the conversation he was having with someone else just as she approached. "Ah," he said, smiling. "Interesting, to see you here."

"How're things in Falkreath, my Jarl?" she asked him, glancing towards where Elenwen was watching the two of them, despite being in a conversation with three other people.

"As well as can be expected," he said. "This party was just what I needed to get some much needed relaxation."

Cry struggled to keep from rolling her eyes. "Have you known Elenwen long?" she asked him, and drowned out whatever it was he had to say in response. Elenwen was moving, now, heading to a different set of people, but she could sense that the Thalmor Ambassador was keeping a close eye on her.

"I need your help with something," Cry was finally able to say, and Siddgeir frowned at her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I need you to cause a scene. Get everyone's attention for a few minutes," Cry replied, and his frown deepened.

"I trust you don't presume on our friendship?" he queried, and then he straightened his shoulders, and lifted his chin. "I am a jarl, after all. I wouldn't want to appear foolish in front of these people."

"You won't be the one to look foolish, I promise," Cry said, and he sighed.

"I see." He hesitated a moment. "Very well. I'll do as you ask, considering you were very helpful when you came and visited my city."

Cry nodded. "Thank you."

He moved around her, and headed towards a rather drunk-looking Redguard, who was seated in a chair near the wall, and hadn't moved since he'd arrived. He said something to him, and the Redguard immediately shouted something back. Whatever it had been had clearly upset him.

Almost at once, the attention of everyone in the room turned towards the two of them, and Cry glanced at Elenwen, who looked more annoyed than anything. As all the guests, and a few Thalmor guards that had been standing at the edges of the room, made their way over to where the ruckus was coming from, Cry moved back over to the bar.

"Hurry, come on," Malborn said, and he led the way through the door behind the bar. Once Cry was through, he closed it, and locked it. Without looking at her, he led the way through the kitchen that had been on the other side. A Khajiit stood before the cooking pit, and she looked at the two of them.

"Who comes, Malborn? You know I don't like strange smells in my kitchen."

"A guest feeling ill," Malborn said, not stopping to look at the cat. "Leave the poor wretch be."

"A guest, in the kitchens?" the cat demanded. "You know this is against the rules!"

"The rules, is it, Tsvanni?" Malborn questioned, pausing in front of a closed door. He turned to look at the cat, who suddenly seemed wary. "I didn't realize eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Maybe I should ask the Ambassador."

The cat hissed at him, and flicked her tail. "Get out of here," she said. "I saw nothing."

Malborn turned back to the door, and opened it. "Your things are in that chest. Get them, and head in. Don't mention my name."

Cry sighed, but went to the chest that he had indicated. Indeed, her pack was sitting inside of it, her sword safely strapped to the side of it. She quickly changed out of the clothes that Delphine had given her and into her armor, putting her sword around her waist.

Malborn pointed to the other door, on the other side of the supply closet she stood in. "I have to lock the door behind you. Good luck."

Cry headed through the door. It immediately closed behind her, and she heard the lock click. She exhaled a breath, and glanced around.

She stood in a hallway of sorts, and it was obviously part of the Embassy that had been walled away from the party goers. She could hear voices speaking from a room on the other side of the hall, and she hoped, desperately, that she would not need to pass through there, in order to find whatever it was she was looking for.

After making a brief inspection of everywhere else she could go, however, she realized that she had no choice _but_ to head into the room that the voices were coming from.

_If only I knew a Shout that would turn me invisible_, she thought to herself, and then blinked. She _did_ know a Shout that would turn her invisible. She had learned it while retrieving Jurgen Windcaller's horn.

Grinning wickedly, Cry retreated around a corner to test the Shout out, and see just how long she could become invisible for. "_Feim_!"

As soon as she had summoned her Thu'um, everything became oddly foggy looking. She moved, and her footsteps sounded muffled, even to her own ears. Raising a hand, she let out a gasp when she saw that she could not see it.

The effect only lasted maybe twenty seconds. The fogginess faded, and Cry blinked momentarily, amazed. She had actually been invisible.

_All right_, she thought to herself, moving back in the direction of the room that the voices had been coming from. _You can move fast enough. First, though, get in, and see what you're dealing with_.

She said the Shout again, and then crept into the room just enough so that she could see what was going on inside. There were three elves discussing something as they stood in a loose circle in the center of the room. Their voices were muffled, just like her footsteps had been. She could see something that might have been a staircase beyond the three of them.

Cry ducked back out into the hallway just before the effects of the Shout disappeared, and she leaned against the wall, considering it. She thought that she was fast enough to run past the elves, and get up the staircase, but the last thing she wanted to do was trap herself, and she felt like that was what was going to happen, if she went up them. She could only use her Thu'um so many times before she was too tired, she knew. If there was no door on the second floor leading outside, she would be in a lot of trouble.

She closed her eyes, and let out a silent breath. She could do this.

She said the Shout for a third time, and then she went back into the room. She ran for the stairs, being careful to avoid the three Thalmor that were in the room with her. She made her way up the stairs as quickly as she could, and reached the top just as her invisibility faded, inhaling and exhaling rapidly. Her heart raced, both from fear and adrenaline, and she leaned against the wall again, waiting for the dizziness spell that had just washed over her to pass.

When it had, she straightened up, exhaling slowly, and looked around.

There were two directions the path ahead of her split off in, and across a small sitting area was a door. She went to it, first, and opened it. When a gust of cold air blew in towards her, she released a relieved sigh, and closed the door again, gently.

She then went and explored in both directions, but found nothing in either of the rooms at either end of the hall. Sighing, she headed outside, pulling out her sword, just in case.

She paused, just before moving into the open of the courtyard that she had walked out into, and examined the situation. Two Thalmor patrolled the yard, one of them dressed in mage's robes. Cry cursed under her breath, and looked past them. A door waited, leading into another part of the Embassy, hopefully the part where she would find what she was looking for.

She considered it. She figured that, maybe, she could use her Thu'um one final time before it would become too difficult, and she debated it. Maybe she would be lucky, and there would be no one in the other section of the Embassy. Maybe these two Thalmor in the courtyard with her would be the last ones she had to face.

She doubted it, however. She needed to save her strength, in case she needed to use her Thu'um in the other area. She would have to take this carefully in another way.

She waited until the two Thalmor paused to speak with one another, and she quickly darted behind a small stone planter, that held dead bushes. She leaned back against it, and then peered around the side of it. The Thalmor were moving away from one another again, in opposite directions. Cry had to sneak along the edge of the planter to stay out of view of the mage, and the other one paused just in front of the door she meant to get into.

Cry allowed herself to curse, again. There was no way she was going to be able to do this.

So, after sending up a brief prayer to the Divines, she showed herself.

There was no immediate call of alarm, which was a surprise. The mage had busied himself with poking his finger into his nose, and the other Thalmor had begun to examine the bottom of his boot, apparently having found something interesting there.

Cry stood where she was, out in the open, and then she sighed. So much for a dramatic reveal.

She crossed to the mage first, who had just enough time to look surprised to see her before she stabbed him in the chest. This startled the other one, who raced across the courtyard to where she was yanking her sword out of the first, drawing his own. She spun around just before he reached her, and her blade cut across his stomach. The Thalmor let out a sick gurgling noise, and collapsed to his knees, and then onto his face in the snow.

Cry shook her head. "So much for being vigilant," she muttered, and then she went to the other door.

There were more Thalmor on the opposite side, but they were spaced out in such a way that it allowed her to kill off one at a time. Once they were all dead, she straightened up, and explored the area that she had entered more freely. It was a larger area than she expected, but there was really only one room that looked promising. It had a desk, and behind that desk was a chest that was overflowing with different parchments. The last thing Cry wanted to do was sit in front of the chest and search through them, but she did not see any other choice.

As she neared the desk and chest, however, parchments that were sitting on top of the desk caught her eye. She moved over to the desk instead, and picked up one of the pieces of paper. As soon as she saw Delphine's name at the top of it, she grinned, and slipped it into her armor. Still, that wasn't going to be enough information; Delphine already knew about herself.

She spent a few minutes at the chest, but mostly it help maps, and information about the war. There were quite a few documents about Ulfric, too, and Cry was tempted to snatch those. At the last second, she did so. She may not have condoned his war, but the last thing she wanted was for her sister's future husband to lose his life to these elves because of some information that was released to them.

She stood up, and looked around. She really had no idea where to go, now. There had been a locked door down one of the halls, but she didn't have any lockpicks, not that she would've been able to get it open, even if she had.

Cry winced. One of the dead Thalmor probably had a key.

She steeled herself, and headed out into the hall to find one of them. After searching through three, she finally found a key on the one that she had killed near the door itself, which, thinking about it, made sense, and she should have searched him, first.

Grunting, she stepped over his body after retrieving the key, and used it to unlock the door. Behind it was an interesting layout; the room was two different levels, and the first was only a wooden dock-like thing. She walked around it until she found a set of stairs, which brought her down to the main level.

Cry exhaled a breath. She should have guessed that the Embassy would have an torture room. She just hadn't thought it would look even worse that the one in Helgen had.

There was a chest against one wall, to the right of the two cells with heavy, barred doors. She went to it, and, surprisingly, only found two papers inside of it. One of them was of no importance to her, and the other mentioned someone named Esbern, who was apparently a Blade hiding out in Riften.

Cry frowned as she read through the report, and then she stuck this paper in her armor as well. There was movement above her, then, and she stiffened, glancing upwards. The last thing she needed was to get caught now, especially when she finally had what she wanted.

"Listen up, spy!" There was _definitely_ someone in here with her, and he did not sound happy. "We have your accomplice."

_Dammit, Malborn_, Cry cursed inwardly.

"Surrender immediately, or you both die," the voice, probably belonging to a Thalmor soldier, continued, and then she heard Malborn curse under his breath.

"I'm dead anyway," he said, and then there was shouting, and the sound of a struggle.

Cry cursed again, aloud this time, and she hurried towards the stairs. At the top of them, she found Malborn fighting with a Thalmor soldier. Somehow, Malborn had managed to get the elf's blade away from him, and they were now both clambering for the weapon, which had been thrown away from the two of them.

Thinking quick, Cry released a Shout: "_Fus_!"

The soldier went flying backwards into the wall, which he hit with a sick crunch. He fell to the ground, and was still. Malborn exhaled a breath, and stood up, looking at her.

"Would have been nice if you did that three minutes ago," he muttered, brushing off his sleeve. "Did you get what you needed?"

"I think so," Cry said, thinking back to Esbern, and wondering why Delphine hadn't mentioned him. "We should get out of here."

"We're not going back through there," Malborn said, gesturing over his shoulder. "The entire Embassy is looking for you."

Cry sighed, and then walked back down the stairs, Malborn following her, but only after picking up the discarded sword. As she investigated the short hallway of the interrogation room, finding nothing but a locked trapdoor, he paused in front of one of the cages.

"Uh… Dragonborn?"

"What?" she asked, trying to force the trapdoor open.

"There's someone here."

Cry lifted her head, and left the trapdoor as it was. She returned to where he stood, and blinked when she saw the man hanging limply from the cuffs that were attached to the wall. Quickly, she opened the door, which was surprisingly unlocked, and hurried to him.

"Hey," she said, gently, and he turned his head away from her, letting out a soft groan.

"Please, leave me alone," he said, quietly. "I already told you what I know."

"I'm not here to interrogate you," Cry said, and the man lifted his head. His eyes were blurry, and he blinked them a few times, as though he were actually trying to focus on her.

"Then what are you here for?"

"Well, to let you go free, I guess," Cry said. "Do you know how to get out of here?"

"There's a trapdoor," he replied as she released the latches around his wrists. He collapsed to the floor rather heavily, and Cry started to reach over to help him up, but he shook his head, and clambered to his feet on his own, one arm held over his stomach. "I'm all right."

"Malborn?"

"Huh?" the elf had been examining the stretching device in one corner of the room.

"Go check to see if that soldier had a key on him," Cry said, and Malborn darted up the stairs. It was clear he wanted to get out of the Embassy. Cry looked back at the man who had been locked to the wall. "Why are you here?"

"The Thalmor picked me up just outside of Riften, a few weeks ago," he said. "They seem to think I know something about some old guy who's been hiding out in the Ratway."

"Do you?" Cry asked, suddenly feeling hopeful.

"Not really," he sighed. "I've seen him, but I don't know where it is he actually lives or anything. Brynjolf or Mercer might know. They're the heads of the Thieves Guild."

"The Thieves Guild." Cry considered it for a moment. She'd known that there was a Guild located in Skyrim, but that had been the extent of her knowledge. It seemed, however, that if she was going to find out who this Esbern was, she would need to talk to one of the members, preferably one of the ones that the man had just mentioned.

"Thank you, for letting me go," he said as Malborn came down the stairs again, thankfully holding a key in one hand. "I didn't think I was ever getting out of here."

"Sure, no problem," Cry said. "Just… one favor to ask. If anyone asks you _how_ you got out, don't mention me, at all, all right?"

The man looked confused for a moment, and then he shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say."

With that, the three of them headed out of the Embassy through the trapdoor, with Cry thinking at the back of her mind that she was never going to come to this place ever again, and wondering how she was going to stay hidden from the Thalmor long enough to finish this dragon business.


	13. Chapter 11: Thief

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story.**

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.**

**3\. I am **_**taking liberties,**_** so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Delphine is just as surprised as Cry was to learn that there is another Blade aside from herself that was still alive. "Esbern, you said?" Cry nodded, and Delphine blinked down at the table in her secret basement room. "I thought he'd died a long time ago."

"Apparently, he's hiding out in Riften," Cry said, gesturing to the parchments she had set down on the table. She had placed the one about Ulfric in her pack. "In the Ratway."

"That's where I would have gone," Delphine agreed, and then she looked at Cry. "You should go to Riften, then, talk to Brynjolf. If anybody knows where Esbern is down there, it's him."

_Brynjolf_. _That's the second time I'm hearing that name_. Cry smirked a little. _His reputation must be really good, or really bad_.

"Dragonborn?"

She looked at Delphine again, and saw that the Blade was giving her a look. "I'll go to Riften," she said, hurriedly, and then she turned tail and ducked out of the inn before Delphine could ask her more questions. As she made her way up the road towards Whiterun, she considered. She should stop by her house and tell Lydia where she was going, and maybe see if the furniture had been brought, yet.

She made it to Whiterun in what felt like record time, and headed for Breezehome as soon as she was through the gates. After opening the door, she poked her head inside, and was surprised to find that the front room was filled with furniture, from chairs to a fire pit, to a bookshelf, even. Beyond that was a full kitchen.

Cry blinked in amazement, closing the door behind her. "Lydia!" she called. "This place looks amazing!"

Her housecarl appeared on the stairs, dressed in normal clothing, which was a shock to Cry's system. She had to do a double-take, in fact.

"You own_ normal_ clothes?" she asked, and Lydia rolled her eyes. Cry grinned, and gestured. "Did you do this?"

"Sort of," Lydia said, and she shrugged. "I mostly just directed. The jarl's men brought all of the furniture, put it wherever I wanted them to." She came down the stairs, and gestured up them. "You should check the upstairs, too."

Cry sprinted up them, and Lydia laughed behind her. On the second floor were two rooms, one of which was designated for Lydia. There was a single bed inside of it, as well as a small dresser and an end table. It looked like Lydia had made it comfortable.

Cry dodged across the small hall to the other room, _her_ room, and let out a happy gasp, clapping her hands together. A chest, a wardrobe, _two_ end tables, a table in the corner with two chairs, and a _giant_ bed.

Cry flopped down onto the bed, which creaked dangerously under the force, and giggled. "Oh, Lydia!" she exclaimed, throwing out her arms to either side. "Do you know how long it's been since I had my own _bed_? I mean, like actually my own?" She sighed. "This is amazing."

"Where are we going next, my Thane?" Lydia asked, and Cry lifted her head. Lydia stood in the doorway to the room.

"I'm going to Riften," Cry said, sitting up. "I have to find some guy named Esbern. Apparently, he's a Blade too, and he's hiding out in the Ratway."

Lydia's face had fallen. "You're going by yourself?"

"I'm sorry, Lydia," Cry started, standing up. "I would bring you with me, but I feel like Esbern might respond better if it's just me there. He might even be more paranoid that Delphine, if you can believe that." Lydia did not look appeased. "Hey, that just gives you more time to do whatever it is _you_ want to do."

"I suppose," Lydia said, and then she turned and walked away. Cry wondered if she should go after her, but decided not to. Lydia understood why she was leaving her behind.

Cry went over to the chest against one wall, and crouched beside it, deciding this was a good time to sort through the things in her pack. There were definitely some things that she didn't need that she was still carrying around. Now that she had a place to store them, there was no reason to leave them in her pack.

As she organized, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and she paused momentarily to listen. They weren't Lydia's; the housecarl had not gone downstairs after leaving the room. That meant there was an intruder, and Cry thought that she could guess who it was in one try.

Indeed, as someone moved across the floor to her, she could tell who it was, just from their breathing. And, when Hainin let out a noise of pain, she turned around, only to find that Lydia had stabbed him in the side.

"Oh, Lydia," she said. "You didn't have to do _that_. I heard him coming up the stairs. I could have handled it."

"I apologize, my Thane," Lydia said after a moment, "but I couldn't risk it. He got very close."

Cry sighed, and pulled a health potion out of the chest. "I'm sorry, Hainin," she said, crouching down next to where he was lying on the floor, his hands over the wound he'd been dealt. She pulled his head into her lap. "Here, swallow this, and it'll go away in no time."

Hainin, rather submissively and sheepishly, Cry thought with amusement, allowed her to pour the potion into his mouth. After a moment, his face relaxed, and he dropped his hands from his side. Although the blood stayed on his hands, the wound closed, rather neatly. His eyes closed.

"Lydia is very protective of me," Cry told him, and she turned her head to look at Lydia. "Get our guest a mug of mead, and an apple."

"My Thane, he was going to kill you!" Lydia said, and Cry offered her a look, before she turned her gaze back down to Hainin, who was still pale.

"No, he wasn't," she said. "Please, Liddie."

Lydia let out a groan, and then she turned and walked away, the sound of her boots fading as she went down the stairs. Cry pushed some of Hainin's hair out of his eyes. "After you drink your mead and eat something, I think I'll have to ask you to leave," she said, and he nodded weakly. "I know that it seems rude, but I'm afraid Lydia might try to kill you if I don't send you out of here."

"Understandable," Hainin said, and his throat clicked as he swallowed. "I did try to kill _you_, after all."

"I was surprised that you actually got to the point of drawing your dagger, this time," Cry said, smiling a little as she helped him sit up. She picked up the dagger, which had fallen from his hand when Lydia had stuck him, and held it up. "This is really nice craftsmanship," she said, admiring the blade. "Where'd you get it?"

"The Brotherhood has a member who's always dabbling at the forge and the grindstone," Hainin said. He shifted so that he was leaning back against the bed, and he gestured to the dagger. "I paid twenty gold pieces for that."

"He made you pay?" Cry asked, looking at him, and Hainin grinned, sheepishly.

"I may or may not have lost a bet."

Cry grinned back, and then Lydia reappeared, holding a mug and an apple. She forced both into Hainin's hands with a gruff, "Here," and then she retreated to the other side of the room and leaned against the wall, her narrowed eyes on the assassin the whole time.

"You don't have to stay, Liddie," Cry said. "I doubt he'll try to kill me again."

"I'd rather not take any chances, my Thane," Lydia said. Hainin was clearly pretending he could not hear either of them, and contentedly munched on his apple, despite the glare that Lydia had stuck on him.

After a few minutes, Hainin finished the apple, and the mug, burped, excused himself, and then dropped the core of the apple into the mug, all within a few seconds.

"I'll help you downstairs," Cry said, standing and smiling in amusement. Hainin nodded in agreement, standing as well. They passed by Lydia, who followed them out of the room to the top of the stairs. At a look from Cry, however, that was where she stayed.

"She's very protective of you," Hainin said, and Cry nodded.

"It's her job to be."

"So, you're a thane, huh?" he asked, and then handed her the mug when she held her hand out for it.

"I sort of gained the title shortly after the events of Helgen by helping Whiterun with a dragon attack of their own." She shrugged. "I don't exactly feel like I deserve the title, but what can you do?" She set the mug down on the table, and looked at him. "What are you going to tell them this time?"

"I'm going to tell them your housecarl stabbed me," Hainin replied. "At least it won't be another lie."

"That's true," Cry said, and she frowned. "Will you still get yelled at?"

"Probably, and it'll sink my pride even lower than it already is, but…" He shrugged. "What can you do?"

Cry smiled at him for the repetition of her own words. "I'll make sure you actually have a chance, next time," she said. "I promise."

Hainin nodded. "Thanks. I'll see you then."

He turned and walked away, and Cry watched him go until he was out the front door. When he was gone, she rolled her eyes to herself, chuckling, and then went upstairs to retrieve her things.

* * *

She had never been to Riften, but after entering the city after having to tell off a guard for trying to swindle her out of her money, she decided that she didn't much care for it. There was so much corruption within the walls that she could practically smell it in the air.

She really wasn't sure what her first step to finding this Brynjolf should be. If he was part of the Thieves Guild, it made sense that he would be down in their headquarters in the Ratway. The last thing she wanted to do was head down there with no sense of where she was going, however, so she supposed the best bet would be to go to the inn and ask.

If _that_ didn't work… well, she had no idea what to do.

She walked in the direction of the inn, and as she did so, she could feel a set of eyes on her. Glancing to her left, she noticed a burly man wearing steel armor watching her movements. She faced forward again, quickly, pretending that she hadn't seen him looking, and hurried across the wooden bridge that was in front of her. The last thing she needed was for someone to start asking _her_ questions, especially after she had so recently infiltrated the Thalmor Embassy. Who knew what information she could actually give out that would lead the Thalmor directly to where she was?

Unfortunately, the innkeeper was no help. The Argonian had hissed at her, mostly, telling her that if she was "connected to that slimy, redheaded thief", then Cry could get out of her inn.

_So, bad reputation, then_, Cry thought, pushing her way back out onto the streets of Riften. _Great_.

At least she knew he was a redhead, now, though, she thought, stepping forward into the sunlight rather than the shadow of the inn. Maybe she would be able to spot him in the marketplace.

She was about to head in that direction when someone spoke up: "You look at little loss, lass. Can I help with anything?"

Almost as soon as hearing that voice, she knew she was in for a world of trouble. And, when she looked up, and met sparking green eyes set over a lopsided grin, she knew she was _done_ _for_. Especially when she saw that the Nord with the honeyed tongue had red hair, and was most definitely the Brynjolf she had been looking for.

_Great_.

Almost as soon as their eyes met, however, the grin fell from his face, and Cry tilted her head a bit to the left. _Interesting_. It seemed that if she was going to get any information out of him, she would have to beat him at his own game.

She grinned at him, matching the one that he'd worn almost perfectly. "What would you know about being lost?" she queried, using the voice that she used when she was hoping to persuade someone into doing something for her, or when she was fighting with a vendor and had to go to a last resort to get the price she wanted. "You look as though you've lived here your entire life."

There was a moment before Brynjolf responded, and she knew that she'd gotten him, either with her eyes or her response. Maybe both. Both was good.

"That I have," he finally said, "which makes me the perfect person to direct you to where you want to go."

Cry raised one eyebrow, doing her best to look inquisitive, although she knew exactly where this was going. She had met men like him before. "I don't imagine you'd do that simply out of the kindness of your heart," she said, and Brynjolf let out a chuckle.

"No," he admitted. "I suppose I wouldn't." He held up his hands. "You've got me."

Cry decided not to waste any more time on him than necessary. The last thing she needed was to get finagled into something she would regret later because of that voice and that stupid grin. "I'm looking for a man, who's supposed to be here in Riften, somewhere," she said without pause. "He'll be fairly old, probably sixty or seventy years, and he might… talk a bit funny. Maybe about… dragons?"

Brynjolf was the one to cock an eyebrow this time. Apparently, she had caught him by surprise, again. "I might know someone who matches your description," he said, his voice a bit more serious, now. "What do you need him for?"

"I have someone who wants to speak to him," Cry said, and she waved her hand. "It's not important. Where is he?"

"Whoa, slow down, lass," Brynjolf said, and he held up his hands again. "I thought we'd already come to the same conclusion that information wasn't going to be given away for free?"

Cry let out a sigh that she hoped wasn't audible. The last thing she had was money to give him, and she decided not to waste time pretending that she did. "What do you want?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Gold? Hate to say this but… I'm not exactly rich."

Brynjolf scanned her up and down, taking in her armor and her weapons. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement of some kind," he said at last, and he smiled at her. "First, though, I'd like to know your name."

It took a lot not to frown, but her eyes did narrow. "Why?"

"Common courtesy, I believe," Brynjolf replied, smiling again. "I'll go first, if you like." He placed a hand to his chest, and bowed, with a little bit more dramaticism than necessary, Cry thought, amused. "I'm Brynjolf, and it is an honor to meet you."

Cry did not respond immediately, and when she didn't, he looked up at her. She was smiling, unfortunately, which gave away whatever face she'd been trying to put on to make this go by quicker. To match him, she slid into a graceful curtsy, suddenly thankful for all the lessons in courtesy her mother had taught her.

"My name is Cry Silverworthy," she said, grinning at him. "It's nice to meet you too, Brynjolf."

The two of them straightened up at the same time, and Cry blinked a bit, feeling as though they were about to take their first steps in a dance. Brynjolf, however, cleared his throat, and gestured towards the inn. "Would you like to join me for a drink? Perhaps we can talk more about this man you're looking for."

"All right," Cry said after studying him for a moment. What was there to lose? Besides, if she managed to get him drunk enough, he might give out information for free.

"Wonderful," Brynjolf said, and, very smoothly, Cry thought, he stepped around her to open the door to the inn. He gestured inward. "After you."

Unfortunately, Cry realized, rather quickly, that Brynjolf could hold his mead. He matched her bottle for bottle, and her regret grew with each one that she pulled the cork out of, with each toast she rose to him. Brynjolf, however, seemed to love it, because the lopsided grin had returned, and it did not leave his face once.

Finally, Cry decided that it all needed to stop. She pushed her chair backwards away from the table they were seated at, and kicked her boots up onto it. She eyed him over the toes.

"All right, Bryn," she started. "I'm done playing games. Are you going to tell me where the man is, or should I just assume you don't know, and find someone who does?"

"If you were to do that, you'd be assuming wrong, because I know_ exactly_ where your man is, and I may or may not be the only one in Riften who does, and is willing to tell you," Brynjolf shot back. "I already told you that it was going to cost you something."

"Well, then what do you want?" she demanded, moving her feet off the table again. She pulled her pack on top of it, and waved her hand at it. "I don't have anything to give you, so… you're going to have to come up with something that's not material."

She watched Brynjolf study her knapsack, and then his eyes were lifting to meet hers. There was something in them that Cry recognized, and she blinked. He flashed her a grin.

"Oh, no," she said, and she shook her head, putting her empty bottle on the table. She let out a quiet chuckle, and rested her elbows on the table as well. "I'm not like that."

"I never implied that you were 'like that', whatever that means," Brynjolf said, his grin never leaving his face.

Cry eyed him, and then she snorted, and wagged her finger at him. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not gonna happen, no matter how handsome you think you are."

She realized what she had said a moment too late, and even as she clamped her mouth shut, Brynjolf's head tilted inquisitively. "How handsome _I_ think I am?" he asked, teasingly. "Are we sure it doesn't go both ways, lass?"

Cry rolled her eyes, in order to hide her embarrassment over having allowed the statement to even leave her mouth. "It's not gonna happen no matter how handsome _I _think you are, either. So there."

Brynjolf's grin returned, and Cry lowered her eyes to it, pretending that they had drifted there on accident, when really, this was part of the plan that she had come up with on the fly. If he wanted to think she was drunk, let him, she decided. All the better for her.

"And how handsome is that, exactly?" Brynjolf asked her.

"You're all right," Cry said, softly.

She watched as Brynjolf reached across the table, and took one of her hands in his. _Yes_. He placed a kiss on the back of it, and then raised his eyes to meet hers. "I must say that I think you're rather beautiful, too, lass," he told her.

_And… this is where we reel him in like a fish_, Cry thought. She inhaled, sharply, and yanked her hand from his.

"I _don't_ do that," she said vehemently, and she had to stop herself from blinking. That had been a little _too_ harsh, maybe.

Nonetheless, Brynjolf was studying her, his eyes careful. After a moment, however, he shrugged his shoulders lazily, and leaned back again. He stood up, and stretched his arms over his head. Cry watched him, and she took in his sluggishness, wondering if it was a ploy.

"All right," he said. "That's fine. The man you're looking for lives down in the Ratway Warrens, beneath the city. I don't know his name, but he's paying my outfit quite a bit of money to keep his hideaway a secret."

Relief flooded through her. She hadn't expected him to give up the information, not really, but the fact that he had was _huge_. She did her best not to look too excited, however, and she nodded, standing and slinging her pack over her shoulder, before bending down to retrieve her bow and her quiver of arrows.

"Thank you," she said. "I'd best be on my way."

She started to walk past him, but then she felt Brynjolf's hand graze hers. It was barely there, almost imperceptible, and she _might not_ have noticed it, had a shot of fire not gone up her arm into her chest when it had happened. And then, his hand was around her wrist, and he had pulled her to a halt. She did not fight him.

He turned her to face him, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. They were dark with lust, and it was then that she realized he wasn't drunk at all, at least, not drunk enough to fake this sort of thing.

"You sure you don't want to sleep off those drinks?" he asked her, his voice soft.

Unwillingly, Cry felt her breathing hitch, her chest rising and falling at an uneven rate.

_Oh, why fight it_? she thought. _You haven't had a good romp in bed in a year_. _This can just be something stupid, a one night thing that the two of you will forget about tomorrow. _

"Maybe it'd be the smartest thing," she whispered.

"I think so, too," Brynjolf said, and he smiled gently. "Stay here; I'll go get you a room."

Cry nodded, and she watched as he walked over to the bar and spoke to the Argonian behind it. She glared at him the entire time, but after a few moments, Brynjolf returned to where Cry was waiting, and he carefully slid his hand into hers. He directed her towards the stairs, and Cry climbed up them, careful to keep up the facade of being drunk. She didn't know if Brynjolf had guessed she was faking it as well or not, but she wasn't sure she wanted to take the chance. If he thought she was sober, he might not want to do this, thinking she'd regret it the next morning.

They walked into a room, and Cry dropped her things on the floor, examining the bed. It would do, she supposed. She heard the door close, and she turned to face Brynjolf. The two simply stared at one another for a long time.

Eventually, however, Brynjolf smirked. "You're very good at pretending to be drunk," he said, and Cry let out a soft snort. She should have guessed he knew she wasn't actually intoxicated.

"You're not drunk either, are you?" she asked.

"Not even in the slightest."

"Good," Cry said, and she crossed to him in two steps. She grabbed a bunch of his shirt in her fist, and pulled him the rest of the distance to her. She leaned up on her toes, and pressed her mouth close enough to his that they were sharing breath. "I want you to remember this," she said, softly, and then she pulled his lips to hers.


	14. Chapter 12: Esbern

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story.**

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.**

**3\. I am **_**taking liberties,**_** so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Cry's full intention was to be gone before Brynjolf woke up, but she had fallen into a deep sleep as soon as they were done, a sleep that was deeper than any sleep she had gotten in years. And, it was _restful_, she was surprised to note. Most times, her sleep was disrupted by dreams, and she would wake up in the middle of the night.

But, no. This night, she had slept right through, and she woke up the following morning to the feeling of a gentle hand stroking up and down her bare back. And, before she could stop herself, she let out a noise that was oddly reminiscent of a purr. She'd had no idea that she was even capable of such a noise.

She felt Brynjolf's hand move down her back to her bottom, and she grinned a bit to herself, keeping her eyes closed. "I'm glad you're still here," he murmured to her, and inside, her heart gave a sharp twist.

_Dammit_, she thought to herself as she lifted her head from where it had been resting on her arms, and looked at him. _This is why I wanted to leave first._

"I'd thought you'd leave," she said, an eyebrow lifted, which had also been partially true. "You seem the type."

"I usually do leave," Brynjolf told her, and his hand moved back up to her spine, "but I fell asleep."

Cry couldn't help it; she laughed. Brynjolf's hand shifted on her back, and she looked down, her eyebrows shooting upwards. "Look at that," she mused, rolling over so that she was facing him. "Not so tired anymore, are you?"

"Aye, I suppose not," Brynjolf said, and she knew that he was trying his best to _will_ her to move closer.

"Well…" She decided to fulfill his wish, since she'd be leaving and never seeing him again."No sense in letting it go to waste."

She pressed a languid kiss to his lips, and reached down to take him in her hand, squeezing just a bit. Brynjolf let out a groan, and Cry smiled against his mouth.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, and she was surprised to find that her voice was sweet, teasing.

"Not -" She adjusted her grip, ever-so-slightly, and Brynjolf bit his tongue. "Not _badly_."

"Oh, good," Cry said, and she placed a kiss on his jaw, and then on his neck. "It isn't supposed to hurt _badly_."

She traveled down his neck to his chest, and then to his stomach, to his navel, and from there she just did what came naturally. Surprisingly, she had never done such a thing before, but apparently she was doing it right, from the sounds that Brynjolf was making, that he was clearly trying to keep quiet.

At the end of her ministrations, however, he broke with a shout, and Cry quickly moved upwards to smother it with a kiss. When she was sure he was going to be quiet, she rolled off of him to her side of the bed, and gazed up at the ceiling, smiling a bit to herself as she listened to Brynjolf try to steady his breathing.

"Divines, lass," he finally said. "I thought something inside me was going to burst."

Cry laughed again; she couldn't help it. "That's kind of the point, don't you think?" she asked, meeting his eyes as he turned his head to look at her, and Brynjolf smiled.

"Aye, I do," he said, and then he rolled over to lay on his side facing her. Cry did the same, and almost at once, their legs tangled together beneath the blanket. Cry leaned into his hand as he ran it through her hair. "Where do you come from?"

Cry smirked at that. "Would you believe me if I said Aetherius?" she queried.

"Yes."

She giggled at the earnestness. "I'm from Whiterun," she said. "I spent some time away from Skyrim, traveling in Morrowind, and then I came back. Now… I guess you could say I'm traveling again, but with more purpose this time."

"So… you're not lost, then, are you?" Brynjolf asked her, and she shook her head, reaching up and taking his hand into her own. Their fingers entwined easily.

"No, I don't think so," she replied. "I know where I am, at any rate. I just… don't exactly know where I'm going."

She was surprised to realize that there was a lot of truth to that statement. Although in a technical sense she _did_ know where she was going, she wasn't entirely sure of where it was all leading her to, and that was something that she desperately wanted to know.

Brynjolf, meanwhile, was nodding in agreement. "Fair enough," he said. "Does anyone really know where they're going?"

Cry smiled at him. "No," she decided, and then she gazed at him for a moment, knowing that she should be getting a move on, but not exactly ready to leave him behind just yet. "You're part of the Thieves Guild, aren't you?"

"How'd you guess?"

_Well, I already _knew_, but I don't need to tell you that, I suppose_.

"You mentioned your 'outfit' being paid by the man I'm looking for to keep him hidden away," she said aloud. "There's only one outfit who lives in Riften, and down in the Ratway." She tapped him on the nose. "You should do better about hiding your location, thief."

"Ah," Brynjolf said, looking sheepish, but only a little. "And the man you're looking for… where are you taking him?"

Cry gazed at him for a moment. She didn't think telling him would be a big deal, cause any major problems, but at the last second, she thought better of it. "I don't think that's something I want to share."

"Oh, come on, lass," Brynjolf said, grinning. "Who am I going to tell?"

_That's exactly it,_ Cry thought. _I have no idea_.

She met Brynjolf's eyes, and she smiled when she saw his innocent expression. "I doubt you'll believe me," she said at last.

"Try me," Brynjolf suggested.

_Oh, why not_? she decided.

"All right," she said, and she sat up. Brynjolf gazed up at her. "I'm the Dragonborn."

After a moment, the grin that had been on his face disappeared, and when she didn't say anything else, he sat up as well. "The Dragonborn?" She nodded. "Like the men in the old stories, who killed dragons and sucked out their souls?"

"Yes," Cry said, "that's exactly what I do. It kills the dragon permanently, and I can use the souls to do that Shouting business that dragons can do."

"But…" Brynjolf shook his head. "Dragons? I've heard stories about the one that attacked Helgen, but I've never seen one here in the Rift, so I assumed…" He tilted his head and examined her. "You don't look like a Dragonborn."

Cry laughed again. She liked that he could make her laugh so easily. "I don't think that matters much," she told him. She then let out a sigh, felt her shoulders relax. "Actually, it feels really good to be able to say out loud that I'm the Dragonborn. Not very many people know that it's me, although they do know that there is one. I've sort of been keeping to myself, though, trying to figure out what's going on, and why the dragons are back after all these years. That's why I'm looking for the man hiding in the Ratways. Apparently, he knows a bit about dragons, and he might know how to get rid of them."

Brynjolf blinked at her, clearly amazed. "So, you can Shout, like Ulfric Stormcloak, and those Greybeards that live up in High Hrothgar?"

Cry nodded. "It's dangerous to do in a confined space, or else I'd show you." She scratched her nose. "Actually, I probably wouldn't, since no one here in Riften knows it's me."

Brynjolf put up his hands. "I won't say a word."

"Thank you," Cry said, because she knew that he meant it. Her eyes strayed to the single window the room had to offer, which had been allowing early morning sunlight to drift into the room. She really needed to get going. "I should get down to the Ratway," she said, and she climbed out of bed to gather up the armor that had been thrown haphazardly around the room the night before. She could feel Brynjolf watching her as she got dressed, and she suddenly felt regretful. Maybe she shouldn't have shared a night with him; they usually got attached.

Indeed, when she settled down on the edge of the bed to pull on her boots, she felt him move across the bed to her. He moved her hair over one shoulder so that he could kiss the one on the other side.

Cry hated to do it, but she tilted her head, in order to push him away. "Sorry thief," she said apologetically, "but I really need to get moving."

It took a moment for Brynjolf to move, but he did so, sliding backwards away from her. Cry finished with her boots, and stood up again to retrieve her pack and her bow and arrows. When these things were over her shoulders, she turned to face him, and smiled.

"Thank you again," she said. "I really do appreciate the information, and your discretion." She felt her cheeks heat up, and hoped she wasn't blushing too bad. "And… the other things, too. It's been awhile since I was able to let go like that."

Brynjolf returned her smile, although she could see that it didn't reach his eyes. "It was my pleasure," he assured her. "Really."

Cry nodded, and she started for the door of the room. She hesitated before she could open it, however, and then she cursed to herself and hurried back across the room to the bed. She leaned across it, and pressed her mouth to Brynjolf's, kissing him deeply for several seconds.

She did not let it get past that, however. She pulled away, and backed away, fiddling with her pack. She smiled at him apologetically.

"Maybe… maybe I'll see you again," she said, and Brynjolf gave her his lopsided grin.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that."

She offered him a grin that was brighter, this time, waved, and then ducked out of the room. She closed the door behind her, and then leaned back against it, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

_You're an idiot, Cry Silverworthy_, she thought to herself.

_Thank you,_ was the returning thought. _Let's go to the Ratway and find Esbern._

She made her way down the the lower levels of Riften, and walked around until she found a door that would take her into the Ratway. She hated it the moment that she stepped through; the smell that existed all over Riften was even stronger down here. Sewer water covered the stones at her feet, gray and stagnant. Cry wrinkled her nose, and glanced around a moment, wondering if Esbern was worth it. They could figure out the dragon stuff without him, right?

Someone, or something, screeched further down the tunnel that she was standing in the entrance to, and she stiffened, completely prepared to turn tail and get out of the Ratway, get out of Riften.

_Oh, stop it_, she scolded herself, shaking out her arms. _You can do this. Come on_.

With resolve that she didn't know she had, she headed forward.

* * *

She made her way through the Ratway with little to no injury. At several points, people who were living down in them had tried to fight her, but she'd deterred them easily enough by showing her sword, and threatening them away with dark words. She could be intimidating when she tried.

At the end of it all, she found herself standing in what was, apparently, The Ragged Flagon, an underground bar that seemed to belong to some type of group, which she guessed was the Thieves Guild. She glanced around at the people in their matching armor who were seated at the tables that littered the small area, wondering if she could ask any of them where she might go next.

When none of them gave her the friendliest of looks, however, she decided that maybe the best choice would be to go to the man standing behind the bar and ask him, instead.

She did that, and he frowned at her, his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm looking for him," Cry explained. "Brynjolf said I could find him down here in the Ratway."

"You spoke to Brynjolf." Cry nodded, and the barkeep sighed, before gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder. "That door through there. Takes you deeper into the Ratway. Your man should be down there."

"Thank you," Cry said, glancing over her shoulder towards the thieves, all of whom were still studying her. She quickly darted out of the bar, and headed towards the door that the barkeep had indicated. She pushed her way through, and exhaled a breath.

What waited on the other side looked to her like more of a maze, but she supposed she had no choice. She needed to get to Esbern one way or another.

She started forward, hoping that she wouldn't get lost too many times.

Thankfully, it wasn't as complex as she had thought it would be. She went through two different areas before she came across one that looked promising. The form of that promise was the heavily armored door that she was currently standing in front of. She tilted her head as she took it in, and decided that Esbern was_ definitely_ more paranoid than Delphine.

With a sigh, she approached the door, and after a moment of debate, she knocked.

There was another moment, and then a small window on the door slid open. She did not get a good look at whoever it was that had opened it, but a voice spoke, shakily, from the other side: "Go away!"

"Esbern?" Cry queried, gazing at the window. "Open the door. I'm a friend."

"What?" the voice demanded. "No, that's not me! I'm not Esbern. I don't know what you're talking about."

Cry exhaled a breath. "It's okay," she assured. "Delphine sent me."

There was a pause. "Delphine?" Esbern finally asked, softly. "How do you…" He trailed off, and then his voice hardened again. "So, you've finally found her, and she led you to me. And here I am, caught like a rat in a trap."

"No, no," Cry said quickly, sensing that he was extremely close to closing the window. "I'm the one the Blades have been searching for. I'm Dragonborn."

"Wh-what's that you said?" Esbern questioned, his voice shaking again. "Dragonborn?" He paused. "Then… there really is hope after all? You better come inside. Quickly now, Thalmor agents have been seen in the Ratway."

Before Cry could say anything else, the window closed, and she frowned, gazing at the door. After a moment, he was speaking again, although his voice was muffled, now. "This'll just take a moment." She heard the sound of countless locks clicking and moving out of place. At one point, Esbern grunted. "This one always sticks… there we go."

Cry crossed her arms, feeling amused for whatever reason. She knew that she shouldn't be; clearly, the threat had been bad enough at one point for him to have taken these kind of measures. But now, in this current moment, she was glad to have something to chortle to herself about. It was a relief. Esbern was here, and he was alive, and, _hopefully_, he knew something about the dragons.

"There we are!" he announced, and then the door opened, revealing a skinny old man with a bald head, but a full, gray beard. "Come in, come in!" he invited, waving her forward. "Make yourself at home."

Cry stepped through the doorway, and took a look around. The room seemed comfortable enough, if not a little cramped. He had a bed and a bar, and a _lot_ of books.

Esbern closed the door again. "That's better. Now we can talk." He turned to face Cry, and eyed her for a moment. "So, Delphine keeps up the fight, after all these years. I thought she'd have realized it's hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago…" He trailed off, and Cry sensed that she would probably have to propel the conversation forward a few times; he seemed to be the type to get lost in memories.

"What do you mean, 'it's hopeless'?" she asked him, and Esbern blinked wearily, focusing on her again.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" he asked, quietly. "What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what's going on? Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said! The dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife. Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him." He stopped himself, and inhaled a deep breath. No doubt that speech had been a lot for him. "I tried to tell them," he finally continued, softly. "They wouldn't listen. Fools. It's all come true… all I could do was watch our doom approach."

Cry, meanwhile, had been trying to take in all the information that he had just thrown at her. The only things she had really gathered were the words 'Alduin', and 'devour'. She looked at Esbern. "Alduin. That's the dragon who's raising the others."

"Yes, yes!" Esbern said, waving his hand. "You see, but you refuse to understand." Cry blinked at him, and he nodded, wisely. "Oh, yes. It's all been foretold. The end has begun. Alduin has returned." He paused, and then looked at her. "Unless it's true, what you say. Are you truly Dragonborn?"

Cry knew that when she confirmed this, her destiny would be set firmly in place. She could guess what it meant that she was Dragonborn, and she wasn't so sure that she needed Esbern to tell her. But, nonetheless, she nodded. "Yes, it's true," she said. "I can devour the souls of dragons that I have slain. I can use those souls to learn Words of Power at an extremely rapid rate, and I can turn those Words into Shouts."

Esbern was gaping at her. "Then there is hope," he said. "The Gods have not abandoned us! We must… we must… we must go, quickly now. Take me to Delphine. We have much to discuss."

Cry was relieved that he had come to the conclusion of heading to Delphine on his own. "All right," she said.

"Give me just a moment," he said, and he walked around her towards the countless books that were piled on the floor. "I must gather a few things."

Cry waited, peering out the small window on the door as he hurried around the room behind her, picking up things he thought he would need and shoving them into a pack. She suddenly realized that they needed to be moving a lot quicker than they were, because she didn't like the way the air felt.

"Esbern?" she asked.

"One moment," he said. "I know time is of the essence, but I mustn't leave secrets for the Thalmor -"

"Funny you should mention them," Cry said, her eyes widening as three of the cursed high elves appeared in her line of sight, "because I think they might have found us."

She thought she heard Esbern curse, and then he was at her side, pushing his arms through the straps on the pack. "All right," he said, steadying himself. "We can take them."

"_We_?" Cry demanded, looking at him, but he kept his gaze straight ahead.

"Open the door, and you will see, young lady," he said, calmly.

Cry didn't like what she was hearing, but nonetheless she pulled out her sword, and then opened the door, like he had said to. Almost at once, Esbern's hands flashed with magic, and he fired something out into the open space beyond the door. The Thalmor that were searching for them on the other side began to shout in surprise and rage, and before Cry knew what was happening, Esbern darted out ahead of her.

"Hey, hold on!" she exclaimed, hurrying outside as well. She came to a short stop, however, when she saw the carnage that was already ensuing, even without her presence. Fire burned in multiple places, coming from the strange creature that was currently attacking one of the soldiers. Esbern was fending off another soldier, and doing rather well for himself, Cry was surprised to see.

That left one for her to deal with, but where were they?

She sensed them coming from her left a moment too late, and she spun away just enough to save herself from a nasty wound. The blade that the Thalmor soldier was using to cut at her had sliced her arm, but not enough to bring her down.

Cry spun around, and attempted to knock the Thalmor back with her Shout. When it would not come, she cursed a bit, and dodged backwards, hitting the door to Esbern's room as she did so. She glanced to her right, then, and decided that she had no other choice. Just as the Thalmor made to swing at her again, and take her out, she jumped over the edge of the platform that they were standing on, and landed heavily on the lower floor. The Thalmor peered over the edge at her, fuming, as Cry struggled to get back to her feet. She'd thought she heard something crack when she hit the ground, but she couldn't focus on that now, especially when there was pain all over her body.

She needed to get control of her Thu'um, and quick, because the Thalmor that had been fighting the fire thing had won, and now he and the one she'd been fighting were trying to find a way to get down to her.

"Damn, damn, damn," Cry hissed, and she dragged her sorry-self into a shadowed corner, hoping that she could figure out what was wrong with her before they could reach her.

She tried to focus on the fire that was usually burning in her chest. It was there, she could feel it, but it was faint, and she panicked, momentarily. Had she actually worn it out when she had turned herself invisible at the Thalmor Embassy? She had only done it three times… and that had been two days ago, now! Surely it wasn't still worn out after two days of not being used at all!

"C'mon, Thu'um," she mumbled, "work with me, or I'm gonna die."

"There she is!"

"Damn!" Cry had to dodge out of the way as a ray of lightning sparks shot in her direction, which awakened all the pain that had been forgotten while she was struggling with her Thu'um. "Please, please, _please_," she begged, and then she whipped around and tried again, giving it everything she had: "_Fus… Roh Dah!_"

The entire room seemed to shake as the force of her Shout echoed off the walls and the floor. The two Thalmor that had been pursuing her were blasted backwards into the wall opposite. One hit it, and then the other, and then they both fell to the floor, neither one moving. Cry stood where she was, panting a bit. Her head spun, and she realized that she must have strained herself to get that strong of a Shout out.

She collapsed to her knees, unable to support her own weight, and she closed her eyes, holding herself up off the floor with her hands. Her arms were shaking, and threatening to give out, and after a moment, she let them. She didn't know what there was for her to do, other than lie on the gross floor, and wait for her strength to return to her.

"Dragonborn?"

She did her best to lift her head as Esbern's inquiring, but also slightly worried, voice reached her. He stood nearby, looking at her, and she exhaled, and set her head down again, closing her eyes once more.

"All right," Esbern said after a moment. "Well, I'll just make sure these two are dead, and you… do whatever it is you're doing."

She heard him walk away, and she tried to stop herself from shaking quite so bad. She honestly wasn't sure what her problem was. This had never been an after effect of using a Shout to its full strength before, and she had used the very same one to its full strength at a previous point in time.

So… what was wrong with her?

After several minutes, she started to feel a little better. Her head wasn't spinning so much, and her shivering had subsided exponentially. She didn't feel perfect, but she was at least able to get herself into a sitting position, and then, with a bit of effort, into a standing position.

Esbern watched her curiously. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"I don't know," Cry admitted, softly. "That's never happened to me before."

"Hm," Esbern mused, thoughtfully. "We'll need to discuss it further, when we aren't at risk of getting killed. Now." He rubbed his hands together. "Where did you say Delphine was?"

"Riverwood, in Whiterun," Cry replied, breathing outwards slowly. "We should get going before more Thalmor show up."

"Good idea," Esbern said, and he paused. "Do you need help?"

"I think I'll be okay, now," Cry told him. "But thank you." She pushed herself upright from the wall, which she had been leaning against, and exhaled another breath, before looking at him. "Let's go."


	15. Chapter 13: Next Steps

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story.**

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check.**

**3\. I am **_**taking liberties,**_** so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Delphine waited for them in the main room of the Sleeping Giant when they arrived in Riverwood, and there was a moment of tense silence as she and Esbern met eyes for the first time in years.

"Delphine," Esbern finally began, and he walked over to her. "I… it's good to see you. It's been… a long time."

"It's good to see you too, Esbern," Delphine replied, and she actually smiled a little. "I'm glad you made it, safe and sound."

"Ah, just a little hiccup right at the beginning," Esbern said, and he glanced at Cry, who bowed her head. "Nothing too serious."

"Good to hear," Delphine said. "Well, we have quite a bit to talk about. No sense putting it off, I suppose." She looked at the man behind the bar. "Orgnar, hold down the bar for a minute."

"Yeah, sure," he said, and Delphine gestured for Esbern to follow her.

The two of them headed into Delphine's room, and Cry went over to Orgnar before following them. "Could I get something to eat?" she asked him.

"Sure," he said. "What do you want?"

"I don't care, really. Some bread and cheese?"

With her food in hand, she went after Delphine and Esbern, and found them in the basement room already, chatting away about the days before the Empire and the Thalmor. They seemed to be having a good time doing that, so Cry leaned against the wall and enjoyed her food. She hadn't really set aside much time for eating, lately, so even a quick meal like this one was a small gift.

Eventually, however, conversation took a turn, and they began to discuss her, as though she weren't standing in the same room.

"The Dragonborn. Where did you find her?" Esbern questioned.

"The Greybeards summoned her to High Hrothgar. The whole country heard them," Delphine replied. "Knowing that they would send her after the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, I got there first and left a message behind for her." She gestured towards Cry. "She showed up a few days later. At first, I was skeptical."

"Oh, no, of course," Esbern agreed, and Cry rolled her eyes a little. "Can't be too safe, especially about matters like these."

"Right," Delphine said, "so I used the dragon burial map here -" She pulled out the sketch of the Dragonstone, and showed it to him. "- and I took her out to actually kill a dragon." She shook her head. "It was a wonder, Esbern. We got there, just as a big, black dragon was bringing the other one back to life, and the beasts _spoke_ to one another. That was when I knew it was even worse than I had thought."

"That black dragon you saw," Esbern said, and he pulled a book out of his pack, which he had set down on the ground, "I suspect it was Alduin."

"The World-Eater?" Delphine asked, her eyes widening. "From the old tales?"

"Not tales, my dear," Esbern replied, shaking his head and opening the book. "Prophecies."

"Prophecies?" Delphine sighed. "Esbern."

"Hush a moment, and listen," he said. "You know that the dragons existed a long time ago."

"Everyone does," Delphine said as Cry finished with her food, and moved closer to the table where the two of them stood. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"The dragons did not leave for no reason," Esbern continued. "Their leader, Alduin, he disappeared, and thus the dragons had nothing to follow. They left, because of that." He glanced between the two of them. "But Alduin was destined to come back."

"And he has," Cry said, "but why now?"

"I suspect it has something to do with you, Dragonborn," Esbern said, "and your sudden appearance has to do with his return, as two things are interconnected."

"And it's because I have to kill him, right?" Cry questioned.

"That seems to be the case," Esbern replied, studying the page he had turned to. "The tales speak of an ancient stone carving, Alduin's Wall, which holds the full prophecy. It is located in an ancient Akaviri location, noted here as Sky Haven Temple." He paused. "Unfortunately, the location of the Temple has been lost throughout the ages."

"So… in order to find out how the Dragonborn here is going to kill Alduin, we'll have to find Sky Haven Temple, and this… Alduin's Wall," Delphine said, and Esbern nodded.

"Yes." He examined his book. "I have spent many years attempting to discern the location of the Temple. Thankfully, it is somewhere here in Skyrim, and somewhere on the western side of the map." He shook his head. "Other than that…"

"Well," Cry said after a moment, "we'll just have to try harder, right? We can start in Markarth, and work our way east from there. It'll take time, but we'll have to find it, eventually."

Delphine sighed. "About that," she said, and then she looked at Cry. "You need to go into hiding."

"I… wait, what?" Cry asked, blinking at her.

"Unfortunately, it seems that Malborn wasn't quite as willing to keep quiet on the subject of the Embassy break-in as I had thought," Delphine explained. "The Thalmor were able to get hold of him, and they got the information out. He gave you away."

"I'll _kill_ that elf," Cry cursed under her breath.

"I was trying to come up with the best place for you to stay," Delphine continued, "and I think Whiterun is our safest bet."

"Why's that?" Cry queried.

"Well, Whiterun is still neutral in the war," Delphine said, "and the Thalmor would be unlikely to search it while it remains neutral territory." She paused. "And I've discussed it with Jarl Balgruuf. He's agreed to keep your location under wraps in whatever way he can."

Cry gaped at her. "Why would you tell a _jarl_ that I snuck into the Thalmor Embassy?" she demanded, and Delphine put up her hands, a warning look on her face. Cry shut her mouth, and crossed her arms, glaring. "Why?"

"Because it was the only way to keep you safe," Delphine said. "We can't afford for you to get taken prisoner by the Thalmor, not when we have so much work to do." She glanced at Esbern, who nodded in agreement. Delphine looked back at Cry. "See?"

Cry huffed a little, and paced away from the table, thinking. The last thing she wanted to do was go into hiding when they needed to figure out where Sky Haven Temple was. They would be able to get more work done if she was around to help.

Then again… going into hiding might offer her some time to look for more Words of Power, and maybe even figure out whatever it was that had happened to her the day prior in Riften. She knew that Esbern would probably be able to help her with that, but if she were to go into hiding…

She let out a sigh. She didn't know what she wanted.

She looked at the two Blades, and found them already gazing at her, as though they were waiting for her response. It was then that she remembered what Delphine had told her before, that the Dragonborn had, originally, been the leader of the Blades. If they were sticking to tradition, that made her the leader of the two of them.

Which meant they _were_ waiting for her response. Which meant that, if she really insisted, she would not have to go into hiding. But was that really the best choice? What help would she be to anyone if the Thalmor were to find her, and take her into custody? It made much more sense, when looking at all parts of the equation, to simply disappear, for a while, until the Thalmor had lost interest in looking for her.

She exhaled a breath. "All right," she said. "I'll go into hiding in Whiterun." She paused. "But where?"

"Don't you have a house in the city?" Delphine asked.

"Don't _you _think that'd be the first place the Thalmor would come looking, if they did decide to come looking?" Cry retorted, and Delphine fell silent. All three of them did.

After a moment, however, Delphine looked up. "The Companions?"

Cry blinked at her. She had completely forgotten about them. Esbern, however, nodded. "That might be a good idea," he said.

"Right. They're a group of warriors, which means you'll be able to hone your fighting skills," Delphine said, looking at Cry again. "It's the perfect place for you."

"I did get invited to speak to the leader about joining, a few weeks ago," Cry said, remembering the fight with the giant outside of Whiterun, and the redhead that had spoken to her afterwards. "I've… I grew up on stories about the Companions."

"Well, good," Delphine said. "Then it's settled. You'll head to Whiterun, join up with the Companions, and Esbern and I will try to figure out where Sky Haven Temple is. When we do, we'll send you a letter." She fixed Cry with a look. "You'll come as soon as you get the letter."

Cry nodded. "Of course."

"And, you won't tell the Companions you're the Dragonborn," Esbern added.

"Right," Cry said.

"You should probably just keep your head down altogether," Delphine decided after a moment.

"Well, I'm not going to be able to just hide out in Jorrvaskr," Cry told her. "They're going to expect me to go out on jobs and stuff, right?"

"True," Delphine said, "but nothing other than that. Got it?"

Cry frowned. She was not going to give up the freedom to search for Words of Power, but she did not have to tell Delphine that was what she would be doing.

So, she nodded. "Fine. Nothing other than jobs for the Companions." _No one needs to know if I go get a Word while on a job_.

"Good," Delphine said, and then she looked at Esbern. "We should get to work."

He nodded, and started pulling other books out of his pack. Delphine looked back at Cry.

"We'll contact you as soon as we learn anything."

"Sounds good," Cry said. "You know where to find me."

With that, she headed up the stairs to the main floor of the inn, nodding to Orgnar as she went past. Once she'd pushed her way outside, she paused on the steps of the inn, glancing around. She didn't know where the road was going to take her, once she reached Jorrvaskr, but she supposed she'd just have to go from there.

She nodded to herself, and started for Whiterun, and for the next part of her journey.


	16. Chapter 14: Welcome to Jorrvaskr

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Cry gazed up at Jorrvaskr, which looked out of place in the Wind District. Everything inside of her was against entering the building, when only a few weeks before she'd been elated by the offer to join up with the Companions from the redhead she'd met while fighting the giant outside Whiterun.

She said as much to Lydia, who'd just joined her at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the building, and her housecarl frowned.

"Why is that, my Thane?" she asked, and Cry exhaled.

"I don't know, but I really don't want to go in there. I just want to finish with the dragon business, and then maybe think about doing something like this." She waved her hand at Jorrvaskr. "Besides, almost everyone in Whiterun knows me as the Dragonborn. Who's to say that the Companions don't?"

"You know what Delphine said," Lydia began, cautiously. "You need to hide out until the Thalmor stop looking for you, or until she and Esbern figure out where Sky Haven Temple is. This is the best place to do it, because you'll be able to train while you wait. The Thalmor wouldn't dare come looking here in Whiterun, not with the city still being neutral in the war."

Cry's shoulders slumped. "I know," she muttered under her breath, "I just can't believe I agreed to this without putting up a bigger fight. Let's go."

She started up the stairs, and Lydia followed after her. Cry pushed her way into the building without hesitating, and found herself walking right into a brawl.

A young Nord woman was beating on a dark elf, shouting insults as she went. Meanwhile, several other people, most of them Nords as well, were standing by, watching, and shouting insults of their own. Cry was relieved to hear that the insults seemed to be directed at both parties in the fight, and she was impressed when the dark elf ducked out from beneath the Nord's fist and started attacking her from behind.

Lydia stepped up next to her, frowning. "This seems to be something they do on normal occasions," the housecarl said, and Cry nodded.

"At least they have a way of entertaining themselves," she decided, and then she looked around. After a moment, she spotted the red headed Nord who had been the one to invite her to the Companions. Until Delphine had brought up putting her in hiding the day prior, Cry hadn't thought of the group of warriors.

Now here she was, and she imagined that the redhead would be more than happy to give her instructions of where to go to get initiated.

"Wait here," Cry said to Lydia, who nodded, and then Cry made her way around the long table in the center of the room towards where the Nord stood with her arms crossed, eyeing the fight with a critical expression.

"Hello," Cry greeted once she'd reached her, and the Nord turned to look at her instead. Immediately, she smiled.

"Good to see you again," she began. "Decided to join up after all?"

Cry held out her arms. "I suppose so."

"Then you'll want to talk to Kodak," the redhead said. She gestured towards the side of the room, where Cry saw a staircase leading downwards. "He should be down in his rooms, in the living quarters. They're at the end of the hall."

"All right, thanks," Cry said, and the Nord dipped her head before turning back to the fight.

"Bloody her nose, Athis!" she shouted, and the dark elf took a swing at the woman's nose.

Cry backstepped as the duelers stumbled in her direction, and then she turned and crossed the mead hall to the stairs the redhead had indicated. There was a door at the bottom of them, and she pushed it open, finding a long hallway on the other side.

She glanced both directions, then went the only way she could, to the partially closed doors at the opposite end. As she approached, she heard voices coming from the room, and she paused, listening. Probably wasn't the best way to begin her time with the Companions, by spying like this, but she didn't want to interrupt an important conversation, and this one sounded very important.

"But I still hear the call of the blood."

"We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."

"You have my brother and I, obviously, but I do not know if the others will go along so easily."

"Leave that to me."

Before Cry could ponder over these statements, which she'd discerned to have come from two separate people, she was being pushed into the room from behind. She staggered back to an upright position and whipped around to see Lydia struggling to regain her feet as well.

"Lydia! You - I told you to wait upstairs!" Cry exclaimed, and Lydia offered her a sheepish, apologetic look in response.

"Strangers come to our hall."

Cry stiffened, and carefully turned back around. Seated at a small table in the corner of the room were two men. One was much older than the other, and both were watching Cry. The older one looked curious, while the younger scowled slightly, as he first took in Lydia, and then Cry.

Cry cleared her throat and approached the table. "Hello," she greeted, glancing between the two of them. They both wore matching armor that was lined with what looked like wolf fur. "My name is Cry, and I would like to join the Companions."

The older man's eyes twinkled. "Would you, now? Stand back; let me have a look at you," he suggested.

Cry took a few steps back and lowered her arms to her sides. The old man appraised her for a moment, and then hummed to himself. "Perhaps. There's a certain strength of spirit," he said.

Cry preened, slightly, but her excitement failed her as soon as there was a scoff from her left.

"Master, you are not truly considering accepting _her?"_ the other man seated at the table asked, and Cry immediately scowled at him.

Before she could say anything, however, the older man did. "I am nobody's master, Vilkas. And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

Vilkas let out a breath. "Apologies," he said, gruffly, "But perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even heard of this outsider."

Cry was about to retort, to tell him exactly who she was, but Lydia nudged her from behind, and she realized that she couldn't. Huffing to herself, she crossed her arms and remained silent.

"Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes, men and women come to us to seek their fame," Kodlak stated. "It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."

"And their arm," Vilkas said, frowning at Cry once more. She frowned right back.

"Yes, you're right." Kodlak looked at her again as well. "How are you in battle, girl?"

Cry leaned forward on her toes, and then back on her heels. "I can handle myself," she finally said, and Kodlak smiled.

"That may be so." He nodded towards Vilkas. "This is Vilkas. He will test your arm."

"Wait, _what?"_

"I am _not_ testing her."

Kodlak frowned at them, and both Cry and Vilkas fell silent. He fixed Vilkas with his cool gaze. "Vilkas, you will take her out to the yard, and see what she can do," he said, calmly.

Vilkas scowled slightly, first at Cry, and then at the ground, before he mumbled, "Aye," and rose to his feet. He pushed past Cry out of the room, and Cry glared at his back before going after him. Behind her, she thought she heard Kodlak release a chuckle.

Vilkas led the way back through Jorrvaskr, and towards the set of doors in the mead hall that Cry and Lydia hadn't entered through. As they passed, they must have caught the attention of several of the Companions, because by the time they'd made it outside, they'd gathered a crowd.

Cry glanced around. Jorrvaskr had a small sitting area on a raised platform attached to it, and beyond that, there was a small yard filled with training dummies and targets for archery practice. It seemed to be a pretty good setup.

Vilkas paused in the yard, before the training dummies. He'd snagged a shield on his way out the door, and drew a steel sword of the likes Cry had never seen before from the scabbard at his waist.

He gestured to her with it. "The old man said to have a look at you, so let's get this over with," he said, stonily, and Cry joined him in the yard, pulling out her own blade as she did so.

Vilkas eyed it critically for a moment, and then he smirked slightly, and looked at her. "Just take a few swings at me, so I can see your form. Don't worry; I'm sure I'll be able to take it."

Cry saw red as a fire began to burn deep within her chest. Vilkas raised his shield, and Cry immediately started swinging at it with all her might. Her confidence grew when she noticed him staggering under the force, and she merely started to swing harder, sweat forming on her forehead.

When Vilkas lost his balance completely, it took a lot of her willpower not to keep swinging. Instead, she slid her sword away, and offered him a hand. He eyed it for a second, then accepted it, and she helped him to his feet.

"Not bad," he said, his voice gruff, "but there's definitely room for improvement, and until that happens, you'll be a whelp, which means you do what I, and the other Circle members, tell you to do."

And, before Cry could ask any questions, he had shoved his scabbard into her hands. "Take that up to Eorlund, in the Skyforge, and ask him to sharpen it for me. And be careful with it; it's probably worth more than you are."

With that, he turned and sauntered off, pushing his way through the crowd on the sitting area, which had thinned.

Cry gazed at the place he'd disappeared, and she let out a frustrated noise as Lydia came over to where she stood.

"I already hate him," Cry announced, and then she looked around. "Where do you think the Skyforge is?"

Lydia pointed. "Up there."

Cry followed her finger, and released another huff. She then started for the stairs that would take her to the place Lydia had pointed too, pointedly dragging Vilkas's scabbard along behind her.

It clanged against each step, and when she reached the top, she looked around, surprised. The Skyforge was definitely something else; it was _huge,_ and looked as though it was hot enough to destroy even the hardest of materials. Sitting at a grindstone nearby was an older man with graying hair, who Cry immediately recognized as a Gray-Mane. That had to be Eorlund, the best blacksmith in Whiterun, and perhaps all of Skyrim.

She walked over to the grindstone, and stopped in front of it, waiting for Eorlund to look up from his sharpening. He did so, after a moment, and she held out the scabbard.

"Vilkas told me to bring you his sword," she said, and Eorlund lifted an eyebrow.

"You the one that was giving him a beating down in the yard?" he queried, and Cry didn't hesitate before offering him a beaming smile and nodding. Eorlund laughed. "Well, good on you, lass. Vilkas could use someone to put him in his place every now and then, aside from Kodlak." He took the scabbard from her and leaned it against the wall of the forge. "Anyhow, I suppose I should welcome you to the Companions. Isn't any better a place for an aspiring warrior."

"Are you a Companion?" Cry asked him, suddenly feeling curious. Eorlund shook his head.

"No, but I'm glad to work for them," he said, and then he nodded towards Jorrvaskr. "None of them know how to properly work a forge."

Cry grinned, and then she looked down towards her own scabbard, where she'd replaced her sword. She carefully pulled it out, and winced. Her _beating_ had taken its toll on the blade. When he saw it, Eorlund _tsk_ed.

"You can't fight anything with that," he said, and he took it from her, eyeing it before shaking his head. "No, you'll need to find a new weapon, lass."

"You're probably right," Cry sighed, watching as he pitched her sword into a wooden tub of water. "I guess I should be going."

"Hold on, I have a favor to ask of you," Eorlund said, and then he reached behind him and grabbed something large and round, and wrapped in brown parchment. "Aela asked me to work on a new shield for her, and I've just finished it. My wife is in mourning, however, and I need to return to her. Would you bring this to Aela?"

"Sure," Cry said, and she took the heavy shield from him, staggering a bit under its weight.

"Thank you," Eorlund said. Cry nodded to him before she turned and staggered back in the direction of the stairs, wondering who _Aela_ was.

As such, she was forced to ask, and the Dunmer she'd noticed fighting with the Nord earlier informed her that Aela was downstairs.

"Saw what you did to Vilkas outside," he said as she started to turn away. "That was pretty impressive."

Cry glanced at him. "Thank you."

"I'm Athis, by the way," he said, holding out his hand. She shook it. "I know you're probably wondering what an elf like me is doing with a gang of Nords, but Kodlak said a warrior's heart can be found in any race, and so here I am."

"Good for you, then," Cry said, smiling. "It's good you've found a place."

"Yeah, especially when it's hard for my kind to get work here in Skyrim nowadays, 'cause of the war." Athis shook his head, sadly. "We dark elves are the most disliked, by Nords, Imperials, other elves… it's a sorry life we live. But, I'm here now, I have a steady pay, and I'm happy."

"And I hope you stay that way," Cry said, adjusting her grip on the shield. "Thank you for the help."

She walked away from him towards the stairs, and she worked her way down them, one at a time. She'd sent Lydia to Breezehome; it would just be too much to explain if she followed her around the whole time she was here. She felt sorry to do it, knowing Lydia would most likely be spending a lot of her time at Breezehome while Cry was in hiding, but she didn't know what she could do to help it.

She poked her head into three different rooms before finding an occupied one. Inside, she found her friend the redhead, speaking with an older Nord that had a scar across one of his eyes, which was clouded and most likely sightless.

"Hi," Cry greeted, sliding further into the room. "You're Aela, right? I have your shield." She held out the package, and the redhead took it from her.

"I've been waiting for this, thank you," she said, and then she looked Cry over. "So, you're here to stay, are you?"

"You know this one, Aela?" the man inquired, also giving Cry a once over. "I saw her training in the yard with Vilkas."

"Ah, yes, I heard you gave him quite a beating," Aela said, lifting an eyebrow at her. "Tell me: could you take Vilkas in a real fight?"

To be honest, Cry wasn't sure. Vilkas hadn't swung at her once, and had simply stood there while she attacked him. Instead of expressing her doubts, however, she merely shrugged.

"I don't care much for bragging."

Aela grinned. "A woman who lets her actions speak for her. I like that." She gestured to the man. "This is Skjor. He and I are Circle members. Vilkas you know, he's the third member, and then there's his brother, Farkas."

"Farkas! Get in here!" Skjor bellowed, suddenly, and after a moment, a familiar face appeared through the space between the door and the wall. Cry had to do a double-take. He looked just like Vilkas, but with longer hair and silver eyes that were just a shade more pale. She remembered seeing him when fighting the giant as well. In fact, she remembered fighting with him, side-by-side, and getting some good work done. She hoped she would have the chance to fight with him again.

"Did you call me?" he asked, and Aela rolled her eyes.

"Yes, ice brain, we did," she said, and she nodded towards Cry. "Take our newest whelp to the other whelps' room, and show her where she'll be sleeping."

Farkas looked at Cry. "Oh, I remember you. Come on, then."

He turned and walked away. Cry followed him after a moment. As he led her down the hall, he spoke: "Aela and Skjor like to tease me, but they're good people. They challenge us to be our best. It'll be nice to have a new face around; it gets boring, sometimes."

"Yeah?" Cry asked, examining the hallway of the living quarters. The walls were stone, the floor was stone, but the walls had a curved shape to them, and there were rugs on the floor with nice designs. It was a good looking place, homey, but not in such a way that deterred from the fact that a group of warriors lived there.

"Yeah," Farkas said. "I hope we keep you. This can be a rough life." He paused outside a set of closed doors near the other end of the hall. "The quarters are in there. Just drop your head on a pillow whenever you get tired. I'm sure the others are eager to meet you. When you've introduced yourself, come find me, and I'll give you something to do."

"Sounds good," Cry replied, and Farkas nodded to her before turning and heading through the door that would take him back up into the main hall.

Cry could hear voices coming from inside the room behind the closed doors. She assumed that it was the other Companions she had noticed before, the dark elf Athis being one of them. She supposed that if she was going to be living and training with them, she may as well get introductions over and done with.

She debated knocking first, then decided that there probably wasn't a point. She opened the door, and found four other people seated on the edges of the beds in there. They all looked at her as she entered, and Athis was the only one to smile.

"Hi there," he said. "They tell you this is where you're going to be sleeping?"

Cry nodded, and then she waved. "Hello," she said. "I'm Cry."

"I'm Torvar," a Nord male said, rising from the bed he was seated on. "This is Njada, and Ria, and Athis."

"Good to meet you," Cry said to them. The two women he'd gestured to looked apprehensive. They examined Cry as though she were a weird specimen on the bottom of their boots. Cry did her best to look pleasant nonetheless.

After a moment, Athis must have decided that the air felt weird, because he stood up as well. "Cry was the one to fight with Vilkas up in the yard a little while ago."

"Good for you," Torvar said. "He seemed even more disgruntled than usual afterwards."

"Ah, so he's like that to everyone, then," Cry said. "I was wondering."

"Vilkas has a rough exterior, but he's a good teacher," one of the women, Ria, stated. Cry glanced at her. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes were flashing. Cry understood what that meant almost at once; Ria _liked_ Vilkas, probably in the kind of way that Vilkas didn't even know existed.

_Poor you,_ Cry thought, studying the young Nord. _Good luck with him, I suppose._

"Do you think he should be Master at Arms instead of Skjor, too?" Torvar queried, and Ria glared at him.

"Bite me."

"Where?" Torvar queried.

"Stop it, both of you," Njada, the other woman, said. She looked at Cry. "Most of us are idiots, in case you couldn't tell."

"Thank you for making sure I knew," Cry said with a grin.

All four whelps looked at her approvingly. "You'll fit in no problem," Athis said.

Cry grinned. She suddenly felt a little less annoyed by the fact that she'd had to go into hiding. She thought that, as long as she was here in Jorrvaskr, with this group of people while she was, she'd be able to handle putting a hold on her main quest, no problem.


	17. Chapter 15: Jobs and Histories

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Eating with the Companions was something else entirely. They all were only allowed to drink water at the table, and Cry heard from Vignar (an old fellow who was also a Gray-Mane, but who _was_ a Companion) that it was because the younger bunch couldn't handle their mead. She decided that was fine, because she'd rather not be eating with a drunken lot of skilled warriors.

Still, even without drink, conversations went wild. Athis and Torvar got into a shouting match over whether it was braver to have killed a bear or a sabre cat alone. Skjor had only been able to end it by standing up and knocking their skulls together. Ria kept up a steady conversation with Vilkas, who seemed to only be sitting through it in an attempt to ignore the conversation that Cry found herself having with Brill, Vignar's -

"Man," Brill had said, to describe his role in Vignar's life. "I do things for him whenever he needs me too. He helped me get off the drink, and I wouldn't be here today if not for him, so I'm grateful."

To Cry, it sounded like Brill had gotten himself signed into indentured servitude, but she did not say that aloud. However, it seemed that Brill was not going to let her get her get away from the topic of life stories, because the next thing he said was: "So, what about you? What's your story?"

Cry supposed she should have been expecting this. After spending the entire day finding out about everyone else, it was only fair that everyone else found out about her. Still, she was glad she was getting away with just having to tell Brill, and maybe Vilkas, too, who she could see was trying _very hard_ not to pay attention to the two of them, his eyes on Ria.

"It's nothing special, really," Cry said to Brill. "I was raised in Whiterun. My parents died when I was ten, and I wandered Skyrim for a few years before heading to Morrowind for a while. I only just came back to Skyrim a few weeks ago."

"So you're an orphan?" Njada had been listening, too, apparently.

Cry nodded in response to her question. "I decided I didn't want to help my older sister run the family farm, so I left as soon as I could. She sold the farm a few years ago to join the Stormcloaks, which meant that I was free to do whatever I wanted when I returned to Skyrim." She gestured. "And here I am."

"You made the right choice," Athis said, butting into the conversation as well. "Ain't no better place than Jorrvaskr, and no better group than the Companions!"

His statement was met by a hearty cheer of agreement, before everyone went back to their individual talks with one another. Cry glanced at Vilkas again. He was looking at her, now, even though Ria still chattered away next to him. Cry met his eyes, and his quickly darted away.

She rolled her own. So much for deciding to try and not pay attention, she supposed.

She had ended up sitting between Brill and Athis, both of whom were very friendly, but also both of whom kept speaking with her and keeping her from actually enjoying her meal. That was fine, she supposed, but she was also pretty hungry, so it was a shame when she was actually able to eat, and her meat had gone cold.

She was still eating when most of the table stood up to go outside for some after dinner training. Only a couple people remained, one of them being the maid, Tilma, who was probably waiting for everyone to get up to clear the table. The other was Vilkas, who sent Ria outside, telling her that Farkas could practice with her.

He remained where he was at the table, but Cry could tell he was fighting an urge to come and sit beside her. She eyed him, wondering why, what he could possibly want.

When he finally did work up the nerve to move, he did not sit down next to her. Instead, he stood off to her left, studying her while she ate and pretended not to notice him. Eventually, however, he cleared his throat. Cry made a show of looking over, and pretending to be startled to see him.

"Oh, Vilkas!" she said. "I didn't notice you were there." The expression on his face told her that he knew different, but she smiled pleasantly at him. "Did you need something?"

"You're from Whiterun?" he asked, and she exhaled a breath. _Interrogation time._

"Yes. My family owned a farm near Rorikstead," she told him.

"How did your parents die?"

"Wow, jumping right into the personal questions, aren't you?" she asked, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin. She looked back up at him as she dropped it on top of her plate. "I don't really think I want to share that information. I don't know anything about you."

"You want to know about me?" Vilkas asked, crossing his arms.

"I mean, I would like to know _some_ things before I start talking about how my parents died, sure," Cry said.

Vilkas gazed at her for a moment, seemingly to take her in. Finally, though, he said, "Farkas and I grew up here in Jorrvaskr. Our father Jergen rescued us from a witches' den when we were barely more than toddlers. Whether or not he was our actual father, it doesn't matter to me. He left when we were seven, however, and he never came back. Where he went, I don't particularly care about that, either."

Cry blinked. That was a lot of information to take in in such a short amount of time. "My parents were killed by Forsworn," she said, because she wasn't really sure what else she was _supposed_ to say.

Vilkas nodded his head. "That's known to happen, especially if you're near the border." He glanced downwards. "Why did you decide to go to Morrowind?"

"I just… felt like traveling," Cry replied. She was _not_ about to tell him that she had been hunted by the Forsworn herself after killing a lot of them. "It was a good experience, too, being able to spend so much time there, and at such a young age, you know?"

"I've always wanted to go to Morrowind," Vilkas said. "By the time I could, however, I was an official Companion, and I didn't have the opportunity anymore."

"You could still go," Cry said.

"No, I have responsibilities," he replied, and that, apparently, was the end of the conversation, because he turned and walked away. Cry gazed after him, confused. She had expected more pushiness, but he hadn't really pushed at all, and he'd willingly given up information about himself…

She tilted her head as she stood up to allow Tilma to clean up. Maybe Vilkas wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

"I _hate_ Vilkas," Cry grumbled to Lydia the following day. The two of them were heading out on a job from Farkas, to handle some wolves that were tormenting a farm.

"Why?" Lydia asked.

Cry explained to her what had happened that morning: Cry had gone to Vilkas to ask for a job, and he'd told her that she should have just gone to Farkas, who'd already told her he had a job for her to do. He'd been snippy about it, too, completely different from how he'd been the night before.

Lydia frowned at her. "And _that's_ why you hate him?" she asked. "Because he seemed nice last night, but this morning he told you something completely reasonable?"

Cry opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it. She turned her glare to the ground beneath their feet. "Whatever," she mumbled, and Lydia nudged her with her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, my Thane, but you just seem to be reacting unreasonably," she said. "He might just have been having a bad morning; maybe he slept poorly."

Cry continued to glare at the ground. "Whatever," she said again.

Lydia sighed to herself, but did not say anything else.

They killed off the wolves, and Cry immediately turned to head back to Jorrvaskr, shoving her sad replacement sword into its scabbard. It was nice, knowing that they were going to give her jobs that were in Whiterun; she could take on a lot of them if they were all nearby, and maybe distract herself with them until Delphine and Esbern sent her a letter, telling her that they had figured out the location of Sky Haven Temple.

They made it back to Whiterun in record time, and Cry told Lydia to go back to Breezehome. She could tell that her housecarl wanted to discuss the topic of Vilkas, but she ignored this, and returned to Jorrvaskr alone.

She told Farkas that she had done the job for him, and he paid her one hundred gold. She blinked at the coin purse he tried to hand to her. "Really?" she asked, and he glanced up.

"Really what?" he asked.

"One hundred?"

He nodded. "The family paid the Companions two hundred and fifty. The person who does the job gets forty percent of the payment."

Cry continued to blink, not taking the coin purse. Farkas sighed after a moment, picked up her hand, opened it, and put the purse into it. He then walked away, muttering something under his breath about 'strange whelps'.

Cry shook her head, and quickly stuck the coin purse into her pack, which she carried down to the living quarters. As she went, she passed Vilkas, who was just coming up the stairs into the mead hall. He looked exhausted. Cry was tempted to ask him about that, but she made a last second decision not to.

She settled down on one of the beds in the shared room, and she huffed to herself as she gazed up at the ceiling. She needed to go visit the Greybeards, ask her about what had happened to her and her Thu'um that day in the Ratway. She didn't know how she would be able to get away with a personal trip so soon after joining the Companions, literally the _next day._

She thought about it for a moment. She supposed if she took another job, she could go to High Hrothgar while she was out doing _that._

Cry sat up again. Maybe Aela had something for her to do, since she doubted Farkas did, and she was not going to ask Vilkas, after seeing the way he'd looked coming up the stairs of the living quarters.

She found Aela down in the living quarters, seated on one of the benches against the wall. She glanced at Cry as she approached, an eyebrow raising. "Yes?" she asked.

"I was wondering if you had a job for me to do," Cry said.

"Didn't you just get back from a job you did for Farkas?" Aela questioned, and Cry nodded.

"I did, but I'm feeling restless, and Farkas's job was here in Whiterun, so it really wasn't a big deal." She examined Aela for a moment. "How'd you come to be a Companion?"

"My mother was a Companion, and her mother before her," Aela said, "and all the women in my family, back to Hrotti Blackblade." She smiled fondly. "I stayed with my father in the woods until it was time for my trial. We hunted everything there was to hunt, which was good training. Ma didn't live long enough to see me join, but I fight to honor her and all my Shield-Sisters through time."

Cry smiled a little. It was interesting, hearing all the different stories of how certain Companions had joined the group. Farkas and Vilkas had been initiated as children, Aela had always been bound to join because of her family's history with the group, Athis had just wanted a place to pursue his passion of fighting… all kinds of different backgrounds, and yet they all shared the same fire of the warrior in their hearts.

She thought that maybe she could get used to Jorrvaskr, and the Companions. She thought that, maybe, she would eventually become a good Companion herself.

"You wanted a job?" Aela encouraged after a moment of silence had passed between them, and Cry blinked, bringing herself back.

"Yes, please, if you have one."

"There's someone who could use some roughing up over in the Rift," Aela said, pushing a rolled-up parchment she'd produced from seemingly nowhere into Cry's hand. "Someone who spends a lot of their time at the inn. Go and take care of it."

Before Cry could say anything else, Aela stood and walked off, passing Skjor as she went. Skjor, however, paused, and caught Aela by the arm. Cry remained where she was, and listened in to whatever it was Skjor had to say to Aela.

"Are you prepared for tonight's hunt?" he asked her, and Aela's eyes darted in Cry's direction.

"I've been thinking we need to be more… discrete," she said at last, glancing at Skjor again.

"There's nothing wrong with what we're doing," Skjor said, frowning at her, and Aela shook her head.

"The old man doesn't like it. Let's just not be so obvious."

Skjor did not seem to be happy with this, but he did not say anything more. Instead, he let go of her arm, and turned a glare to Cry.

"Don't you have something to do, whelp?" he growled, and Cry immediately turned and scampered for the stairs to the mead hall, sticking the bounty in her armor.

The hall was empty, mostly. Vilkas sat quietly at one of the tables in the corner of the room, reading a book, and Torvar was talking with Athis about different types of weapons near the doors leading out into the training yard. Cry hesitated, and then decided to speak with Vilkas, just to see if he was all right.

She went over to the table where he sat. He did not look up from the book he was reading, and she stood there awkwardly for a moment, wondering if he had sensed her approach.

Just when she was about to clear her throat, he spoke: "What do you know about the dragons?"

Cry felt the color drain from her face. "Sorry?"

"The dragons," Vilkas said. He exhaled. "We've heard that dragons are reappearing all across Skyrim, and that one even attacked one of Whiterun's watchtowers." He finally looked up. "I figured you might know something more, considering you were traveling up until yesterday."

"Oh." Cry relaxed a little. She had thought… well, she had _thought_ he'd somehow come to the conclusion that she was the Dragonborn. That had been a ridiculous notion, though. Of course he hadn't come to that conclusion; there was no reason for it. "No, I don't know much. I only know about the one that attacked Helgen, really, and then I'd heard that the guard here took down one, but other than that…" She shook her head.

"I see," Vilkas said, and then he returned his attention to his book. "Was there something else you needed?"

"I just…" She trailed off, and then sighed, silently. "No, nothing. Sorry for interrupting your reading." She paused. "What _are_ you reading?"

"A book about the Dragon War," he replied. "I thought it might offer some information that would help in fighting a dragon, if I ever have to."

Cry let out a quiet scoff. "Reading won't really help with that," she said, and Vilkas looked up again.

"Don't you think so?"

She blinked, and then she cleared her throat. "I mean… it's a dragon. How can you learn how to fight one unless you're actually forced to do so?" She shrugged. "It just doesn't seem plausible that you can learn how to fight such a beast through reading a book."

"You can learn a lot from reading," Vilkas said, "even if it isn't necessarily what you were hoping to learn."

"Fair enough." Cry hesitated. "Do you like to read?"

"It's one of the few things I enjoy doing in whatever spare time I have," he admitted, and then he tilted his head, closing the book. "What about you?"

"I haven't had a chance to sit down and really read for a while," she said, and then she smiled a little. "I wish I could, though. I love to read."

Vilkas seemed to smile, too, but it was gone too quickly for Cry to actually judge whether it had been a smile, or just a twitch in his cheek. "Well," he said, standing and picking up the book. "You should find the time, again. Reading's important."

With that, he started to walk away, and Cry hesitated before blurting out: "Are you all right?"

Vilkas paused, and turned to look at her. "Sorry?"

"I just… earlier, you looked exhausted," she said, lowering her voice a bit. "I just wanted to make sure you were fine."

Vilkas was silent for a moment, and then he set his shoulders. "That is no concern of yours," he said. He then turned and actually walked away, passing by where Athis and Torvar stood by the doors, out into the training yard. Cry watched him go, and then she sighed to herself, both frustrated and hurt. She had only wanted to know if he was all right.

She rolled her eyes to herself. She didn't have time to worry about it. She needed to get to Ivarstead.

As she walked through Whiterun, she debated stopping in at Breezehome and taking Lydia with her, but decided against it at the last moment. Lydia did not know what had happened in the Ratway, and she did not want to give her housecarl any reason to worry about her, because she felt fine, now. It had just been in those few moments when fear had taken over, that maybe she wouldn't be able to use her Thu'um ever again. Now, though, she knew that she would be able to harness it, even if she didn't need to.

Still. She wanted to know what might have caused her problems in the other situation, and how she could possibly avoid it in the future.

And she thought the Greybeards might have an answer for her, even if it was one that she didn't necessarily want to hear.


	18. Chapter 16: To Find A Balance

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

She was right about not wanting to hear whatever it was the Greybeards thought had gone wrong.

"I doubt it's because of that," she said, and Arngeir sighed.

"I'm sorry, Dragonborn, but it is the only explanation I can think of," he said. "Your Thu'um must be harnessed at least once a day, or whenever you use it again, you will suffer from a bad reaction to it." He lifted his shoulders. "It's an unfortunate truth."

"I just don't understand how it's possible!" Cry exclaimed, and she was surprised when the whole of High Hrothgar seemed to shudder, a bit. She lowered her voice, and continued: "I mean… it's a natural thing that I can do, isn't it? I shouldn't be having an… allergic reaction to it whenever I use it again after _not_ using it."

"I understand your confusion," Arngeir said. "Allow me to explain, as best as I can: a dragon's Thu'um is an extraordinary thing. It allows them to turn words into magic, at an incredibly rapid rate. Something inside of them turns these words, and the knowledge behind them, into whatever the word means, and this magic can be used for a number of things. Because you are the Dragonborn, I imagine your Thu'um is more akin to a dragon's, than it is to a human's. This means that, like a dragon, you can turn words into magic, in an extremely short period of time. And… without releasing that magic, it can build up to a dangerous level inside of you, so dangerous, in fact, that it can affect you, when you finally decide to release it."

Cry blinked at him. "So, what you're saying is that I need to release the magic at least once a day so that it doesn't get _angry_ with me?"

Arngeir nodded. "In simplistic terms, yes."

"Great," Cry muttered, and then she threw up her hands. "Just great!"

"Why is this an issue?" Arngeir asked her as she paced away from him. "Surely you have an opportunity every day to use your Thu'um, do you not?"

"Not as of two days ago, no," Cry said, and then she hung her head. "I joined the Companions, and I'm not going to tell them that I'm the Dragonborn." She hesitated, and then, deciding that she didn't want the Greybeards knowing she was working with the Blades, waved her hand. "There'd be too much fanfare, you know? So… I'm trying to keep it hidden, but if I have to use my Thu'um _every day…"_ She trailed off, and shook her head, pressing her hand to her forehead. "I won't be able to do that. It's impossible."

"You'll have to," Arngeir said. "Your Thu'um is strong, Dragonborn, stronger than that of any human's, at any rate. If you do not use it every day…"

"I'll get blasted apart from the inside?" Cry guessed, and he was silent for a moment.

"Most likely."

"Great," Cry mumbled, and then she let out a groan and sank to a squatting position on the floor. This was the last thing she needed, on top of everything else, the stress of knowing that if she didn't release the magic her Thu'um created on a regular basis, she was at risk of, quite literally, being ripped to shreds by her own ability.

Wonderful. Perfect. She was _so glad_ to be the Dragonborn.

"Fine," she muttered at last, and she stood up again. "I'll figure it out, I guess." She looked at Arngeir. "You wouldn't happen to have any locations of Words of Power, would you?"

Arngeir smiled a bit, and gestured for her to hand over her map. She did so, and he walked away, leaving her alone in the main hall of High Hrothgar. She glanced around for a moment, spotting Master Borri crouched on the ground in front of one of the many pillars.

After hesitating a moment, she walked over to where he was, and settled down next to him, sitting rather than crouching.

_"Dovahkiin,"_ he murmured, and, once again, High Hrothgar shook around them.

"Hi," she replied, folding her knees up to her chest, and looking at the pillar. "I know you don't talk, but that's okay. Sometimes it's better to just listen." She paused, and then she sighed. "I think… I think I'm getting close to finding out what's going on with the dragons, and how to stop them, but I'm kind of at a standstill, and I'm just… wasting time, until I can figure out what to do next. I don't want to _call it_ wasting time, because I've joined the Companions, and that's a good thing, because they're an honorable group of warriors but… I feel like I'm using them, and that I'll never really be able to respect the opportunity I've been given."

Borri did not say anything, and she had not expected him to, so she kept talking, without realizing it, almost: "And there's… there's this man, in the Companions. I don't know him well, at all. Obviously not; I just arrived at Jorrvaskr two days ago. But… he's already become a thorn in my side. He was really kind, the first night. I mean, this was after he'd insulted me during my test to see if I was worthy or not, and then after he interrogated me for information about my past, but other than that, he was nice, and I thought that maybe I'd be able to get along with him. And then, yesterday, I went to ask him about a job, and he _yelled at me._ But, later on, when I returned from a different job, we had a good conversation about reading.

"I don't know. He's going to cause problems. I just… I'm not too sure what kind of problems, yet, and I don't know if I want to find out, either, but I can't exactly _not_ find out, because I'm in the Companions. I made a commitment. And I should stick to that commitment, right? Even with these doubts about not appreciating the opportunity, and this man?"

Borri was silent, but Cry wasn't really speaking to him anymore, anyway. She was talking to herself, mostly, about Vilkas and the Companions, and as she sat on the floor next to one of the Greybeards, talking it all through, she decided that there was no reason she couldn't appreciate being in the Companions while also being the Dragonborn. There would always be dragons to fight, and there would always be a job for her to do for the Companions. And so what if she had to use her Thu'um on a regular basis? If she was always on a job, she would just be able to use it then, away from Jorrvaskr and anyone that she didn't want knowing about her ability.

"I guess it'll all be fine," she said, quietly, and then she nodded. "Thank you, Master Borri."

She stood up, just as Arngeir returned with her map in hand. He handed it to her. "I have marked a few locations we have heard the whisper of a Word come from," he told her. "You may return whenever you wish to see if we have heard more."

"Thank you," Cry said, and she slid her map away into her pack again. "I appreciate the help."

Arngeir bowed slightly to her. "Dragonborn," he said, and then he turned and walked away. After a moment, Borri rose, and went after him.

Cry let out a sigh, and cast a final glance around High Hrothgar, before she turned and pushed her way outside. She had already dealt with the job in Ivarstead, which meant that she could head straight back to Whiterun, if she chose.

For whatever reason, however, her attention turned east rather than west, in the direction of Riften. Her thoughts drifted briefly to Brynjolf, the thief she had shared a night with barely a week ago. She wondered if he had already forgotten about her, and decided that he most likely had.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. She should get back to Whiterun, tell Aela that she had completed the job. If she didn't get back soon, Aela would ask what had taken so long, and the last thing she needed on top of everything else was to come up with an excuse.

She started down the mountain again, pushing thoughts of both Brynjolf, and, subconsciously, Vilkas, out of her mind. She did not need to be thinking about men, with everything else that was already fighting for her attention. She had Words of Power to look for, and she had jobs for the Companions to do. She was busy enough, without having to deal with affairs of the heart as well.

Not that thoughts of Vilkas had absolutely anything to do with affairs of the heart. Aside from the fact that he was definitely attractive. She didn't mind looking at him. That was about as far as it went, however. There was no reason for it to go any further. He was kind of awful, first of all, _and_ she'd barely met him.

Cry huffed to herself, and forced Vilkas out of her head. Stupid, attractive male warriors. Maybe the Companions had been a bad idea after all.

She made her way back to Whiterun, because she was beginning to feel the effects of travel. She thought she needed a good night's rest, and then she could take on another job and head for the closest Word of Power to wherever the job decided to take her.

Unfortunately, as soon as she returned to Whiterun, and Jorrvaskr, Farkas was waiting outside for her.

"I have another job for you," he said, and Cry exhaled a breath.

"Can I have an evening to myself?" she asked him. "I just got back from a job for Aela."

Farkas examined her for a moment. "Fine," he said, and then he shook his head, walking away. "Whelps."

Cry rolled her eyes, but pushed her way into Jorrvaskr. The mead hall was mostly empty, probably because everyone was spending the rest of the evening outside. Cry went to the table, and picked through the scraps that remained of dinner, trying to find something to eat.

"Oh, dear, you don't need to do that."

She jumped at the voice, and then turned to see that Tilma, the maid, was standing behind her, looking worried.

"I can make you something, if you're hungry," she said, and Cry quickly shook her head.

"I can make my own food," she told the maid. "Really."

Tilma chuckled. "I'm sure you can, my dear, but it is my job to make food for you." She moved to the cooking pot that was hanging over the large fire pit in the center of the room. "Do you want anything specific?"

"No, anything's fine, thank you," Cry said, feeling awkward. She had never had someone cook for her, aside from when she was a child, and it was her mother's job to make sure dinner was ready every evening. Even then, however, Cry had learned how to cook by helping in their farm house's tiny kitchen.

So, settling down at the table in the mead hall, and watching as Tilma bustled around, gathering ingredients and tossing them into the cooking pot, she felt strange. She would usually be doing _everything_ in order to have dinner, and here she was, doing _nothing_ but watch as someone else prepared it for her, and her alone.

It was… unnerving, almost.

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" she asked, and Tilma looked over at her in surprise.

"You _want_ to help?"

"I'm used to making my own food," Cry explained. "It just feels odd to be sitting here watching someone else do it."

Tilma smiled. "It is not every day that one of the Companions offers to help this old woman cook," she said. "Never, in fact. But, if you would like to help, I wouldn't mind."

Cry nodded in agreement, and stood again. She assisted Tilma by retrieving ingredients when they were necessary, and by keeping an eye on the food while she walked away to sweep at the floor. Eventually, it was done, and Cry spooned some of the stew out on her own.

"Thank you," she said to Tilma, who merely smiled at her.

"I appreciated the help."

"Anytime," Cry responded, and then she settled down at the table to eat.

Eventually, the doors leading out into the training yard opened, and Vilkas poked his head inside. "Tilma," he said, and the old woman sighed tiredly.

"Who made a mess this time?" she asked, picking up a spare wooden bucket and dropping several rags into it.

"Njada and Athis got into it again," Vilkas replied.

Tilma huffed a little, but marched past him through the door, which he held open for her. Once she was out of sight, he turned to look at Cry, who quickly turned her gaze downward, so that he wouldn't notice that she'd been watching him.

"How was your trip?"

Cry blinked down at her bowl of stew. That was a question she hadn't expected from him. She glanced up. "It was fine, I suppose," she said, carefully.

Vilkas nodded. "I haven't made my way east in some time," he admitted. "I've been too busy with my tasks here."

"Oh," Cry said, and she raised her shoulders, stirring the stew around. "Uh, there's really nothing new to look at, if that's what you want to know."

"Hah," Vilkas laughed. "No, not necessarily. I just - never mind." He paused. "Kodlak wants to speak with you, whenever you have the time."

Cry felt the color drain from her face. "Did he say why?"

Vilkas shrugged. "Probably a formal welcome to the fold, is all."

Cry let her shoulders fall. "Oh, all right then. I'll see him once I'm done eating."

"Vilkas, come help us lift the table!" came a call from outside.

Vilkas glanced over his shoulder. "A moment, you bunch of idiots," he shouted back, and then he faced her once more. "We should talk more, about the Rift, when we can."

"Sure," Cry responded, and she smiled a little, "although you really should head out there yourself, if you find the time. Maybe you could take on a job yourself."

"Vilkas!"

Vilkas growled in his throat, but ducked outside. The door closed behind him with a solid thud. Cry eyed the door for a moment, wondering what that had been all about. Vilkas's mood swings were going to give her whiplash, and also make it extremely hard for her to not think about him.

She finished with her stew quickly, knowing that Kodlak awaited her. She headed down to the living quarters, passing by the shared room as she walked down the hallway. She got the distinct feeling that whatever conversation she would be having with Kodlak would end with one or the both of them knowing something more about the other than they had previous.

She doubted that she would know anything more about Kodlak, but that he would know a boatload ton more about her.

_Galmar sat you through those interrogation lessons, remember?_ she asked herself. _It's best to tell the truth whenever possible; it makes it easier to hide whatever needs to be hidden._

She squared her shoulders, and knocked on the partially closed door of the Harbinger's sitting quarters.

"Come in, youngling," Kodlak said through the opening.

Cry pushed the door open wider, and stepped into the room. Kodlak sat at the corner table, much like he had been the first time she'd met with him. He was reading, but he lowered the book as she closed the door back to its original position.

"Good to see my request was relayed," he said, and he gestured towards the other chair at the table. "Come sit. Have you eaten?"

"Just now," Cry answered, moving to do as he asked. She settled down in the chair, eyeing the room over as she did so. She hadn't really given herself the chance to do so, the other time she'd been there, but now she saw that it was lived in. The shelves were full of books, rolled parchments, and decorative vases. The rug on the floor was well worn. The display cases were all locked securely. The room was nice, and very clearly a home. She envied Kodlak for possessing it, almost.

"What did you want to speak with me about?" Cry asked, deciding to get the conversation started.

"Ah, nothing serious, lass," Kodlak assured her. "I only wanted to congratulate you on your successful first fight, and welcome you to the Companions."

Cry offered him a small smile. "That's what Vilkas thought. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Kodlak said, returning the smile. "I'm glad to hear that Vilkas is being civil towards you. It's not every day that a whelp beats him into submission."

"It really wasn't like that," Cry said. "I swung at his shield a few times. He didn't even fight back."

"Nor was he supposed to," Kodlak agreed, "but it is unusual for him to so willingly ignore a challenge as the one you posed."

Cry frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Vilkas told me that you seem to know how to handle a weapon," Kodlak answered, not really answering her question. "He said that you may have been able to take him in actual combat, if that had been the case." He gave her a cursory look. "It gives one cause to wonder where you learned to fight, and why you have decided to bring your skills to the Companions."

Cry took a moment to process her answer before giving it. "I had… a teacher, when I was younger," she explained. "My father knew a man who was skilled in battle, and he thought it wise for me to learn from him. As for why I'm here… I had free time."

"Hm." That sound most likely meant he was unconvinced, as did the expression he wore. "Well, I suppose that free time is gone, now. How many jobs have you been given?"

"Three? I'm not sure, actually." Cry laughed a little. "All I know is that, apparently, Farkas has another one for me. I was hoping to get some sleep first, however."

"I don't think anyone would fault you for that," Kodlak agreed, smiling again, and Cry relaxed a bit. "I shouldn't keep you here any longer," he continued, returning to his book. "Perhaps we'll speak further at a later date."

"Sure," Cry said, and she stood up again. "Good night, Harbinger."

"Sleep well, lass," Kodlak returned, his eyes on his book.

Cry exited the sitting room, closing the door behind her. Once it was shut, she let out a breath, and closed her eyes, briefly. At least it hadn't gone badly. She hadn't gotten that feeling that it had, at any rate.

More than anything, she just wanted to go to sleep. As she headed towards the shared room, however, she heard the sounds of raucous conversation, and she got the distinct notion that rest, there, would be fairly impossible.

She grunted to herself, and started up the stairs to the dining hall instead. Maybe she would get some use out of Breezehome, after all.

As she walked towards the doors that would take her out into Whiterun, she passed by where Aela and Skjor were sitting at one of the tables in the corner of the room. Both looked over at her, curiously.

"Where are you off to, whelp?" Skjor asked, not unkindly, although his gruff voice made it hard to tell.

Cry paused, one hand on the door. "I own a home in the city," she explained. "I thought I'd get some rest there, rather than downstairs. Everyone seems to be wide awake, and since I have another job waiting for me in the morning -"

Aela cut off further explanation with a wave of her hand. "Got it," she said. "Just make sure you're back here bright and early."

Cry nodded in agreement. "I will be. Thanks."

She exited Jorrvaskr, but not before she noticed Vilkas sitting on a bench, watching her with a curious, and not exactly trusting, look in his eyes.

Cry elected to ignore it. For now.


	19. Chapter 17: Dustman's Cairn

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

About a week later, Cry decided that she really needed a new weapon. The one that she was currently wielding was flimsy, and with how much work she was doing for the Companions, as well as her search for Words of Power taking her into the dark recesses of Nordic ruins, she needed something sturdier.

So, she went to the place that she thought would offer her the most for her money, which was the Skyforge. As she suspected, Eorlund was more than happy to show her a selection of his weapons, and she elected to look more closely at the swords, knowing that she'd never handled an axe very well.

Unfortunately, not even any of the swords were the weapon she wanted to spend upwards of one hundred gold on.

Cry examined the one that was currently being held up for her inspection for a moment, and then she shook her head.

"I don't think a short sword would suit me," she said, and Eorlund let out an impatient breath.

"So what do you want, then? I don't have all day, lass," he said, putting the sword back down on the edge of the forge. Cry sighed.

"I really have no idea."

"Well, then you look at these, and make up your mind on your own. I have work to do," the blacksmith said, and then he walked off towards his grindstone.

Cry gaze down at the weapons sitting on the edge of the forge. All of them _looked_ nice, but none of them were speaking to her. She'd always been told that when a weapon was right for someone, it spoke to them. None of these were doing that.

"Well," she said after a few moments, "I guess I'll decide later on."

Eorlund didn't respond, and when she looked over at him, she saw it was because he had the grindstone going, and most likely hadn't heard her.

She started down the stairs towards the training yard of Jorrvaskr. She glanced around as she reached the bottom, and saw that most of the other Companions had come outside as well, and were training in various parts of the yard. Vilkas stood on the raised dining area, his arms crossed, and his eyes narrowed, as he took in all the trainees.

Cry passed by where Athis was standing with Aela, and watching as she showed him the proper way to hold a bow. Aela looked over at her as she passed by, and Cry smiled at her.

Instead of smiling back, the woman returned to her explanation. Cry turned her gaze to the ground, picking up her pace, slightly.

"Hey, you! Whelp!" She turned, and saw the other twin, Farkas, crossing the yard towards her. She frowned to herself, wondering what he wanted. It had already been made clear to her that none of the Circle members spoke to the whelps unless they wanted them to do something, or they felt like sharing, which was a rare occasion. And Cry really wasn't in the mood to go on yet another job. She'd just gotten back from one that morning.

Farkas paused in front of her, and Cry shied backwards. "Did you pick up a weapon, yet?" he asked her, and she shook her head.

"None of them seemed right," she explained, and Farkas sighed.

"Well, you'll need to find something, because we have a job to do, you and I."

Cry frowned slightly. "We do?"

Farkas nodded. "Skjor wants to be the one to explain it, though, so we should head inside."

Cry nodded, and followed him towards Jorrvaskr. They passed Vilkas as they went, and she accidentally brushed against his shoulder. She winced, expecting to get scolded, but he merely grunted and sidestepped.

She relaxed, and went into Jorrvaskr after Farkas. Once inside, they found Skjor sitting at the mead hall table, eating a late breakfast of fried venison and eggs. He glanced up at them, and lifted an eyebrow.

"Must you interrupt while I'm eating?" he asked, directing the question more to Farkas, who shrugged.

"You said it was urgent."

Skjor snorted, and looked at Cry. "It is," he said. "Someone's found another location of one of the shards of Wuuthrad."

"A shard of _what?"_ Cry asked, completely confused, and Skjor exchanged a look with Farkas.

"Of _Wuuthrad._ You know, Ysgramor's axe?" Cry's expression must have answered that question, and Farkas snorted to himself. "Whelps."

"Easy, brother," Skjor said. "Not all of them were raised here in Jorrvaskr like you." Cry glanced sideways at Farkas, curious. She'd learned from Vilkas already that the two of them had lived their whole lives in Jorrvaskr, but she'd never been able to talk to Farkas specifically about it.

Not that she had the chance to do so, now. Skjor was still talking. "You and Farkas are going to go to Dustman's Cairn and retrieve the shard," he told her.

"Why aren't I going alone?" Cry asked.

"First of all, you may be skilled with a weapon, but you're not skilled enough to fight what's down in those ruins on your own," Skjor responded. "Secondly, Farkas will be there to assess you, and to ensure that you do the mission honorably. Thirdly, this is a mission that Kodlak decided you could handle, so it's best if we send someone along with you to make sure you don't _mess it up."_ He grinned at her. "Fair?"

"Fair," Cry replied wearily.

"Good," Skjor said, sounding pleased. "Head out as soon as possible. Now, let me get back to my food, would ya?"

He turned back to the table, and Farkas took Cry's arm and tugged her away from it. She looked at him.

"So, you were raised here?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Vilkas and I were found by our father in a cave surrounded by Hagravens," he explained. "They don't know what we were doing there, and neither do we. The only life we know is the one we've had here at Jorrvaskr, and it's the only one we care about."

Cry smiled slightly. "I'm glad you found a home," she said to him, and he shrugged.

"It's a good one." He then looked at her again. "Get yourself a weapon, and meet me at Dustman's Cairn when you can. It's a bit to the northeast of Whiterun. Just follow the road, and you'll get there."

Cry nodded, and then Farkas was out the door. She stared after him, wondering how he had so much energy. Glancing around, she exhaled a breath. Where was she going to find a weapon she could use temporarily?

"Whelp." She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Vilkas had entered Jorrvaskr. He approached her, and gave her a once over. "Don't you have a job to be doing?"

"I do, but I still don't have a weapon," she responded, and Vilkas released an irritated sigh.

"Why didn't you just borrow one from Eorlund, like you said you planned to?"

"This might sound stupid to you, but none of those weapons spoke to me," Cry informed him, crossing her arms. "When I pick a weapon, it needs to feel as though it'll work well with me, and none of those felt like that."

Vilkas was silent as he gazed at her, and then he snorted to himself and looked away again. "Well, you'll have to pick something, at least for this one job," he said. "Come here."

He led her around the edges of the mead hall to a weapon rack where a sword and a battle axe hung. He took the sword off of it and handed it to her. "Use this for now."

Cry gave the sword a few swings, frowning to herself. She then looked at Vilkas again. "I don't like it."

"Well, you don't have a choice," he said. "You should've taken better care of your other one."

"You practically broke it in half!" Cry exclaimed, and he shrugged.

"It was flimsy." He pointed to the sword she was holding. "You'll use this. Go."

Cry glared at his back as he walked away again, and then she exhaled angrily and stalked out of Jorrvaskr into the streets of Whiterun. She hated Vilkas so much, him and his stupid temporary sword.

* * *

She found her way to Dustman's Cairn, just like Farkas had said she would. She found him standing outside what looked like a big burial mound, his arms crossed.

"Took you awhile," he said, and then he turned and climbed up the mound. "Come on. We can do this fast if we don't waste time."

Cry sighed to herself, but followed after him. She was surprised to find that the mound covered up a door that led into the ground, which was something that was all too familiar to her. She glanced sideways at Farkas.

"We have to go in there?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Why?"

"I just don't really want to," Cry explained, feeling very nervous. "I mean, there's usually dead people walking around in there, and I've dealt with a lot of those."

"So this should be no problem," Farkas decided after a moment, and then he pushed open the door and headed in. Cry let out a curse before following after him.

The door opened into a room that had a table in the center of it, and was brightly lit with torches. Cry frowned as soon as she saw this, and Farkas hummed to himself.

"Looks like someone's been digging here, and recently," he said. "Stay sharp."

"Right," Cry said, quietly, and she pulled out her sword. She looked at him when he didn't move. "Are we going?"

"This is your job," Farkas said. "You should take the lead, don't you think?"

"Oh, yeah, right," Cry agreed, and she glanced around before shrugging her shoulders and gesturing. "That way?"

Farkas didn't respond, and she exhaled before heading the way she'd pointed.

They made their way deeper into Dustman's Cairn. Cry did her best to stay on her toes, keep an eye out for draugr, which she had thought would have made more of an appearance than they'd had. Instead, it was mostly just the threat of getting lost that was plaguing her.

She probably stopped more than was necessary, to make sure they were going in, what she thought, was the right direction. Farkas did not say anything to assist her, which was kind of worrisome. Him not talking was even worse than him giving her feedback, she thought, because she literally had no idea if she was doing the job the way it was supposed to be done.

Still. How could you excavate a Nordic ruin differently than the way she currently was, and had done since her return to Skyrim?

Eventually, they reached a chamber that was closed in by a gate leading forward. The gate itself was shut, and Cry sighed, looking around the room. Farkas had wandered away, and stood examining a throne that looked like it would break if anybody sat in it.

In a small room next to him, Cry spotted a lever. She ducked into the room, and yanked on the lever. She could hear the sounds of the gate opening, but, in the process, the gate to the room she was in closed.

"Piss," she cursed, walking to the gate itself, and gazing at the hard wooden planks. There was no way she was getting through it, unless she decided to Shout, which she was not going to. Even then, she didn't know if a Shout would work for her to get the bars down. She'd learned quite a few Words, recently, but with the lack of dragon souls she'd obtained, she had not been able to really learn them, so they were useless.

Farkas came over, and she smiled at him sheepishly. He sighed. "Don't worry, I'll figure out how to get you out of there," he said.

Cry nodded, thankful, but before Farkas could move away, a group of people appeared, each holding a sword made of what looked like silver. They formed a semi-circle around Farkas, who glared at them.

"It's time to die, dog," one of the people hissed.

"We knew you'd be coming here," another said, this one an orc. They were an interesting group, Cry thought, made up of a lot of different races. At first glance, she would have said they were bandits, but there was something about their organization that made her think otherwise.

"Your mistake, Companion!" a third spat.

"Which one is he?" the only woman in the group questioned.

"It doesn't matter," the first man said. "He carries one of those weapons, he dies."

"Killing you will make for an excellent story," the woman said, grinning wickedly.

"None of you will be alive to tell it," Farkas said, and Cry was surprised to hear that he sounded rather calm. There were five of them, and only one of him.

Just as Cry began to think this dilemma through, however, Farkas suddenly hunched over, and shook violently. Before Cry even knew what was happening, he sprouted dark, coarse hair all over his body, and he grew much bigger. His arms elongated, his hands forming into huge paws with claws on the end of them. He grew taller, and his boots turned into even bigger paws. Cry pushed herself against the back wall of the room she was stuck inside of. Farkas had just turned into a werewolf.

The group started to attack, but Farkas was unbothered. He grabbed one and tossed them away. They hit the opposite wall with a crunch. He swung one big paw at the woman, who shrieked as the sharp claws cut clear through her leather armor, leaving a huge gash on her chest. Farkas hit one of the other men with his opposite paw, and tore a large part of his throat out. The orc he jumped at, pushing him into the ground, and Cry winced as he tore his throat out with sharp teeth.

He didn't even have to deal with the one that was left. The Nord had raced out of the room as soon as he could.

Cry gaped at the dead orc with the missing throat as Farkas disappeared from view. Several moments passed, and then the gate in front of the room she was in lifted. Cry did not move, however, and after another moment, Farkas approached, back in his normal form.

"I hope I didn't scare you," he said, and he sounded slightly amused.

"W-what was that?" Cry managed.

"It's a blessing, given to some of us," Farkas replied. "We can be like wild beasts, fearsome."

Cry blinked at him. "Are you going to turn me into one?"

"Oh, no, only the Circle have the beast blood," Farkas replied. "You're here to prove your honor just to join the Companions. Eyes on the prey, not the horizon."

"You're going to make a lot of werewolf jokes now, aren't you?" she asked him, moving away from the wall, and Farkas smiled.

"Only when I can think of them."

Cry let out a breath. "So… Aela, and Skjor, and Kodlak…"

"All werewolves," Farkas replied. "And Vilkas, too."

"That might explain some things," Cry mumbled, mostly to herself, thinking of Vilkas's mood swings, which had plagued her for the last week. From the look on Farkas's face, however, she could see that Farkas had heard it, and she cleared her throat. "Let's just get through this place."

Farkas did not argue, although he seemed much more relaxed as they continued through Dustman's Cairn. They ran into more of those people, who Farkas said were 'Silver Hand', a group that fought desperately to kill werewolves all over Skyrim, including the Circle. They thought that all Companions were werewolves, however, which Farkas said was ridiculous.

"Why's that?" Cry asked him after they had cleared a chamber.

"Kodlak doesn't like being a werewolf. It used to not be a choice; once a person was put into the Companions, they became a wolf." Farkas shrugged. "The old man changed things. Now, only Circle members are werewolves, and only if they want to be." He paused. "Well, until Aela and Skjor get to them."

"What do you mean by that?"

"When Vilkas and I were invited to join the Circle, Aela and Skjor told us that we wouldn't be true Companions unless we took the beast blood," Farkas replied. "They said there's no reason to refuse a gift like the blood."

"And so you took it?"

"We had no choice," Farkas said. "We wanted to be true Companions."

"Even though Kodlak, the _Harbinger,_ insisted that you didn't need to be werewolves to be true Companions?"

Farkas frowned at her. "We aren't here to discuss Vilkas and I's choice; we're here to see if you can get through this honorably."

Cry held up her hands. "All right, all right. Sorry. You can't blame me for being curious. Let's go."

They made their way through the ruin to the final room. Cry hesitated before stepping inside it, however, feeling wary all of a sudden. Farkas glanced at her, moving forward to join her after poking through the dead bodies of the Silver Hand that they had finished off in the last chamber.

"What is it?"

Cry shook her head, peering into the room ahead of them. "I just… something feels strange about this next room," she said, quietly, and, standing where she was and _focusing_ on it, she realized _why_ it felt strange. She could hear the whispers, could sense the power.

_A Word Wall. Damn._

She looked at Farkas. Deciding that she didn't have time to panic about this sort of nonsense, and figuring he owed her a secret to keep, she said, "So… something odd might happen, in this room, but I don't want you to worry, all right?"

He frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

Cry exhaled a breath. "You'll see."

She headed into the room first, and wasted no time in walking all the way to the other side, to get to the Word Wall. She paused in front of it, feeling Farkas's gaze on her, and she stared directly at the glowing Word of Power.

Warmth washed over her, and the word echoed in her head: _Yol, fire, Yol, fire…_

"Fire," she whispered, and then she grinned to herself, almost forgetting that she was not alone, that she had just done the very thing she had said she _wouldn't_ do, which was reveal herself as Dragonborn to one of the Companions.

Turning around, she noticed Farkas, and saw that he was blinking passively at her. Cry opened her mouth, ready to explain, but then the all-too-familiar sound of coffins breaking open rang out from all corners of the room. Cry looked past Farkas, and realized that practically the entire length of the wall, on both sides of the room, was lined with said coffins.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, and she pulled out her sword. Farkas had already done the same, and he circled around the bigger coffin centered in front of the Word Wall.

"Keep your eyes open, and watch your back!" he called to her, and then he swung at one of the draugr that had approached, its eyes glowing viciously.

Cry decided to take his advice, but also to give her newfound Shout a try. She'd been holding onto a soul that she had claimed from a dragon she and Lydia had fought, alongside the people of Ivarstead. She'd wanted to use the knowledge it possessed on a Word that she thought would truly help her in bad situations. If this wasn't a bad situation, and if a Word that she hoped would allow her to spew fire wouldn't help her in it, she had no idea what she was even doing with herself.

She waited until there were several draugr in front of her before focusing on the fire in her chest, which was burning more brightly now, with the anticipation of being used. Farkas finished with the two he'd been dealing with, and looked over at her.

"What are you doing?" he shouted, and began to race over to where she was.

Cry held up her hand, however, and Farkas skidded to a stop. She grinned, and let her Shout ring: _"Yol!"_

Fire that she couldn't feel burst from her mouth, and made contact with the four draugr that had cornered her. All of them let out hisses, and turned around, hurrying away, burning. The smell of cooked flesh hit Cry's senses hard, but she ignored it, instead hurrying after the draugr to finish them off.

As she did so, more came out of the coffins that hadn't yet broken open, and she heard Farkas huff.

"Could you do that again?" he asked, sounding hopeful, and Cry smiled at him.

"Just stand back," she said, and went to work.

Several minutes later, all of the draugr that had been in the coffins lining the chamber were on the ground, burnt to crisps. Cry had managed to take care of them all, suffering from only a minor burn herself. Farkas had lingered in the background, watching her walk around to make sure they were all dead. She finished off the last one with her sword, mostly because she felt rather burnt out (hah), and then walked over to where he stood.

"That was… something else," he said, and she grinned wanly at him.

"Thanks."

"Do you want to explain?" he questioned, and she sighed.

"I'm the Dragonborn," she said. "I can learn Words of Power, and channel them into a Thu'um, or Shout, except that I can do it exceptionally fast, like the dragons." She paused. "And, I can kill dragons, and make sure they stay dead."

Farkas blinked at her. "We'd heard that there was a Dragonborn," he said, "but we've heard a lot of different descriptions of who it actually was." He tilted his head. "You were not one of them."

"Gee, that's good to hear," Cry said, "because the Thalmor are looking for me, and that's part of the reason I joined the Companions, so… it'd be really nice, if you could… I don't know, keep this to yourself?"

Farkas exhaled. "I really shouldn't," he said, and Cry dropped her shoulders, hanging her head. "But I will."

Cry glanced upwards. "Really?"

"Sure," Farkas said with a shrug. "It's nice, knowing something not everyone else does first." He grinned at her. "Besides, I can hold this over your head, and ask for any favor I need done."

Cry frowned at him. "That's not very fair."

"No, it's not," Farkas agreed

Cry glowered, and he beamed. After a moment of this, Cry sighed. "Fine," she said, "but you have to tell Skjor that I did well."

"Oh, you did well enough even without you having to ask me to tell him that," Farkas said with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about that."

"Really?" Cry asked, hopefully, and he nodded.

"Let's get back to Whiterun," he said, and he wrinkled his nose. "It stinks in here."

Cry chuckled, and led the way up the stairs to the pathway that one of the broken open coffins had revealed behind it.


	20. Chapter 18: Induction

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

"Hey, congratulations on your job!" Njada called to Cry as she passed where she sat at the mead hall table. "I heard Aela and Farkas talking about how well you did."

Cry shrugged one shoulder. "It was nothing, really," she said, "just some draugr."

_And some bandits that were after a werewolf, but the werewolf was on my side, so it's no big deal._

Except for the fact that it was. A huge deal.

Now that she didn't need to worry about making it through Dustman's Cairn alive anymore, she had plenty of time to think about what she had learned, and what _Farkas_ had learned as well. First of all, how rude of him to blackmail her in order to keep her secret. Second of all, what a relief to have at least one other person who knew she was the Dragonborn inside Jorrvaskr. Still, however, she wasn't sure that the agreement they had come to was going to stand; she was definitely not going to do any favor Farkas asked of her. That was just ridiculous.

And the _werewolf_ thing. _Good Gods._

She settled down in a chair at one of the tables in the corner of the dining hall, and rested her chin in her hand, gazing at the floor. She didn't want to think about it, but it was all that she could do. Farkas was a _werewolf,_ the rest of the Circle were _werewolves._ What the actual -

"Hey." She glanced up and found Vilkas standing before the table, studying her.

"What do you want?" she asked him, not really in the mood to be ordered around.

"Skjor wants to speak with you," Vilkas responded, gesturing towards where Skjor stood against one of the wooden supports.

"Then why doesn't he come over to where I am?" Cry queried, under her breath.

"Hey, watch that tone," Vilkas warned, frowning at her.

Cry glared back, and pushed herself into a standing position before shoving past him towards where Skjor was. She stopped in front of him, and crossed her arms. "What?"

"Not in the best mood, are we?" Skjor queried, and Cry chose not to respond. "Well, we'll see how you feel after your ceremony."

"My what?" Cry asked tiredly, and Skjor exhaled a breath.

"Your ceremony to induct you into the Companions."

That caught her attention. She looked at him, her eyebrows drawn together. "Wait, what?"

Skjor nodded. "Farkas discussed it with me, and I discussed it with Kodlak, and he feels that you're ready to join," he told her.

"But… I've barely joined," Cry said, still frowning. "I don't understand -" She cut herself off as she finally understood it, and she met Skjor's gaze. "Oh. Right."

Skjor nodded again. "Exactly. So, after dinner, meet us in the training yard, and we'll get you inducted." He walked away, leaving Cry to return her gaze to the ground, deep in thought. Was she going to have to become a werewolf, too? Because she didn't want to be a werewolf, not in the slightest. But, she supposed if all the other Circle members were, and if she was going to be part of the Circle…

No, she wasn't going to be in the Circle. Just a Companion, like everyone else in Jorrvaskr. That was fine. She didn't have to become a werewolf if she was just a Companion. But… why had Skjor acted like - _ugh._

She let out an exhalation. This wasn't going to improve her mood in the slightest.

* * *

Right after dinner, Cry headed out into the training yard, and she found the Circle members already there, waiting for her. She walked up to them, and Kodlak grinned warmly at her.

"Brothers and sisters of the Circle," he began, glancing around at everyone present. "Today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman has endured, has challenged, and has shown her valor." He looked once more at Cry. "Who will speak for her?"

"I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us," Farkas stated, straightening his shoulders. Cry glanced at him, and he winked back, grinning. Cry turned her gaze to her feet.

"Would you raise your shield in her defense?" Kodlak asked Farkas.

"I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us," Farkas responded smoothly.

"And would you raise your sword in her honor?"

"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes," Farkas assured.

"And would you raise a mug in her name?"

Cry glanced upwards, and saw that Farkas was still grinning at her. "I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories," he said proudly.

"Then the judgement of this Circle is complete," Kodlak determined, looking around at everyone once more. "Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

Everyone spoke up then, in agreement and confirmation of Kodlak's words: "It shall be so."

And, just like that, it was over, and Kodlak was gesturing her forward to him. "You're one of us now," he began. "I trust you won't disappoint."

"I'll do my best not to," Cry promised, and then she glanced around to make sure none of the whelps were close by to hear what she had to say next. "I do have a few questions, however."

"I would imagine so," Kodlak agreed. "Farkas told us about your discovery of our secret."

"Yeah, so… you're all _werewolves?"_ Cry demanded. "How did that happen?"

"Through a long, arduous, and not exactly pleasant story," Kodlak replied with a tired sigh. "Perhaps I will tell it to you, one day."

Cry let out a breath of her own. "All right, well, does this mean that I have to become a werewolf?" she asked him, and he smiled at her.

"Not at all," he said. "It is a choice one should be free to make, whether or not they are part of the Circle, which, remember, you are not. Not yet, at any rate. Not all Companions need to hold the ability to hunt like a wolf, young one; it does not change your standing in the slightest."

That relieved Cry to no end, and she felt her shoulders relax. "Thank you," she said, and Kodlak nodded.

"Why don't you go speak to Eorlund?" he suggested. "I think it's high time you chose a weapon worthy of a Companion."

Cry grinned sheepishly, and Kodlak winked at her before turning and heading back into Jorrvaskr. Cry headed up to the Skyforge, where she found Eorlund settled down at the grindstone. Before he could start working, she trotted over to him.

"I need a weapon," she announced, and Eorlund gave her a dry look.

"Didn't you come say the exact same thing to me two days ago, and then promptly not choose one?" he queried.

Cry nodded. "I did, but now I need one, because I'm a real Companion, and soon I'm going to be part of the Circle."

"Oh, are you?" Eorlund tilted his head, suddenly amused. "Interesting."

"Why?"

"Well, the last whelps to join the Circle were Farkas and Vilkas," Eorlund responded, "and that was almost two years ago, now."

Cry frowned. "Really?"

Eorlund nodded. "And those two have been with the Companions practically their whole lives." He shrugged. "Ah, well, perhaps Kodlak sees something in you." He turned and nodded to the weapons that were hanging off of the rack nearby. "There's a selection for you to look at; Skyforge steel all. Pick one, and don't come back until you need it sharpened."

Cry smiled, and she walked over to the weapons rack. As she looked them over, she heard grunting coming from the yard below, and the sound of a blade hitting one of the training dummies. Peering over the wall, her eyes landed on Vilkas. He was holding a greatsword that glinted in the setting sun, and swinging it furiously at the training dummies. Each swing made contact, because of how long the blade was, and how wide a reach Vilkas had while swinging it.

As Cry watched him, the weapon _sang._

She turned to Eorlund. "I want one of those," she stated, pointing.

He grunted as he rose from the grindstone, and walked over to where she was so that he could see what she meant. After a moment, he snorted. "No, lass," he said. "You're too slight to wield a greatsword like that."

Cry scowled at him. "I want a greatsword," she said, determined. "I don't care how heavy it is; it's what I want to fight with." She crossed her arms. "Make me one."

Eorlund gazed at her steadily for a moment, and then he cracked a smile. "You're serious, aren't you?" Cry nodded, once, and he nodded back. "All right, I'll make you a greatsword. I should have it ready in two days or so. Do you think you can wait that long?"

Cry nodded again, and then she grinned. "Thanks, Eorlund."

* * *

Several days later found Cry training with her completed greatsword. She couldn't believe how beautiful it was, how much it shone in the sunlight. It was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen, and she'd seen freshly fallen snow on the Whiterun plains, and a deer drinking from a stream, and a number of other beautiful sights.

Her Skyforge steel greatsword, currently, was at the top of the list.

"Whoo-hoo!" Cry cheered as she swung her blade and it sliced easily through the wooden neck of the training dummy. The head of the dummy went flying across the training yard. She grinned down at her greatsword. "I knew you were the right choice for me!" she said to it.

She went back to swinging at the dummies, dancing between them, slicing at them. It was amazing, how much she could reach with her sword, and how long it was. She had to admit, it was pretty heavy, but that didn't matter so much to her. She was already starting to build up muscles that made it easy to support.

"Vilkas!" she called, catching sight of him on the eating area. He looked at her, and she held up the sword, grinning toothily. "I'm going to be better than you in no time!"

"You wish!" he returned, and then he went after Farkas, who was chuckling from where he sat at one of the tables.

Cry went back to her training, although her thoughts had drifted, and she wasn't exactly paying attention to what she was doing, any longer. She wanted to train with Vilkas, but she didn't know how to go up and ask him for training. Shouldn't he be the one to approach her, and ask if she wanted help training? He was part of the Circle, and none of the others ever had to ask for training.

Cry shook her head to herself. She could figure out the basics on her own, she knew, but she had seen Vilkas in the yard, seen the way he handled _his_ greatsword, and she wanted to be just as good as he was.

_Well,_ she thought, stopping after she removed the head from the second dummy, _maybe I can learn by watching him._

She moved away from the training dummies, towards where she had dropped a water skin on one of the tables. She pulled the cork out of it, and downed most of the water that was inside of it, exhaling once she'd lowered the skin. It was a hot day, surprising for early Hearth Fire. Most of the Companions were inside, because of this; only Farkas and Vilkas were outside, and they were under the shade of the cover of the eating area, discussing something quietly between the two of them.

Cry tilted her head as she examined the two brothers. She knew that they had been with the Companions since they were children, and she wondered how much of Skyrim they had been able to experience. Sure, they had probably traveled all over on jobs, but had they spent any time in any of the holds, just… learning and enjoying themselves? She figured not.

Cry herself had spent her adolescent years mostly in Whiterun, and occasionally in Windhelm. It wasn't until she had gone to Markarth at ten that she had truly learned what a different landscape looked like, how a hold right next door to the one she had been raised in could be so strange, so wild, when Whiterun had been so… tame.

Still, even as the Dragonborn, she hadn't spent very much time in the Rift, or even in Falkreath. She had only gone as far north as Windhelm, still; Dawnstar and Winterhold were a mystery to her. Solitude had barely been touched.

She considered this, and then decided that, as soon as she was done dealing with the dragon business, that she would spend some time traveling, to get to know the land that she called home, and yet could not say she had fully experienced.

"Cry!"

She blinked, and looked over at Vilkas and Farkas again. Farkas was the only one still outside, now, and he had been the one to call her name. That was a nice change that had occurred since Dustman's Cairn; he elected to call her by her given name, rather than refer to her as 'whelp'. She dropped her water skin back down onto the table, and walked over to where he sat.

"You have time to do a job for me?" he asked her, and Cry nodded, sliding her greatsword into the scabbard on her back. It rested comfortably between her shoulder blades, and she had to force herself to keep from smiling.

"What is it?"

"Just some bandits that are being rough with a family on the border between Whiterun and Eastmarch," he responded with a shrug. "Shouldn't be difficult for you."

"Sure, I can handle it," Cry agreed. "I'll head out now, if you want."

Farkas shrugged in response. "Whenever, just get it done by the end of the week. Apparently, these bandits are lookin' for more than gold."

Cry frowned, unsure of what he meant by that, but decided not to ask when she saw the expression on his face. "Got it."

She turned and walked away, into Jorrvaskr. It was significantly cooler inside, and she wondered how that was possible. After retrieving her things from the living quarters, she headed back upstairs, only to be stopped by Skjor.

"When you come back, we have some things to discuss."

Cry frowned, wondering what _that_ meant. She supposed it could be a number of things; maybe Skjor had a special job he wanted her to do, or he wanted her advice on how to admit he was in love with Aela… Cry thought that he might go to Kodlak for that second one before he came to her, but the first seemed plausible.

"Why can't you tell me about it now?" she asked, feeling curious, and he frowned at her.

"Because you already have a job to do. So go do it, and come back, and we'll discuss."

Cry frowned at him as he turned and walked away again. She didn't think she would be able to focus on the job that Farkas had given her, with the prospect of a discussion with Skjor waiting for her when she got back. All she would be able to think was what he could possibly want with -

Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt. _No… he couldn't be. Could he?_

Cry glanced over at where Vilkas sat at one of the corner tables, a book open in front of her. Something inside of her twisted uncomfortably, and she glanced at Skjor again. He had joined Aela on one of the benches, and they were discussing something quietly. Occasionally, one or the other would glance at her.

_Damn,_ Cry thought, her heart dropping into her stomach. _They're definitely going to._

Her shoulders suddenly felt very heavy. She nonetheless pushed her way out of Jorrvaskr, and headed towards the gates of Whiterun, waving off a comment that was passed to her by one of the guards, barely noticing that he called her 'Dragonborn'. Aela and Skjor wanted to turn her into a werewolf, and she didn't think there was anything that she could do about it.

She had no doubt that, as soon as she returned from her job for Farkas, she would be invited to join the Circle. She had no doubt that that offer would be paired with the offer of the beast blood. And she…

Well. She _really_ wanted to be on the Circle.

She didn't know why, but since she had been a child, she had always been on a quest for power. At first, it had been little things, like wanting to know how to use a sword so that she could win in a fight against the kid that had lived on the farm a few miles away from her family's, who insisted on calling her sister "Bloody Faisley", because of her red hair. Then it had come in bigger things, like when she had made it to the top of a fighting guild in Morrowind.

Now, it was with things like this. She wanted to be on the Circle. She wanted to have one of the highest positions in the Companions, even though she had no intention of sticking around longer than it took Delphine and Esbern to find Sky Haven Temple. She wanted to be on the Circle, and… and she was extremely tempted to take the beast blood, if it meant that she would be.

Cry sighed outwards as she headed up the road that took her towards the border with Eastmarch. She knew that, once the opportunity arose, she would take it, no matter the cost. She would become a werewolf, one of Hircine's playthings, if it meant that she would be able to join the Circle. It was always about gaining more power for her, and she couldn't… she couldn't fight the urge.

It was annoying, but it was who she was. There was no sense denying the fact.


	21. Chapter 19: The Beast Blood

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Cry did her best to avoid Skjor and Aela both for as long as she could. She needed more time to think, she knew, before seeking them out. Something like becoming a werewolf was not a decision to make lightly, no matter how much she wanted to rise through the ranks of the Companions. It would be a change to her whole life.

Besides, she didn't know how becoming a werewolf would intertwine with her dragon's blood. What if the combination was too much, and she was killed? Then everything would have been for nothing at all, and Skyrim would have to deal with the dragons on her own. She refused to let that happen.

So, while on her job, she paid a visit to High Hrothgar. If nothing else, she'd be able to think easier in the temple's peaceful silence. She did not think she wanted to ask Arngeir for guidance with this issue, certain that he would be against it straight from the get-go. The idea that she realized this already should have been proof enough that becoming a werewolf was a terrible idea, but…

Cry was a Nord. She'd force everything else to wait for her while she made up her mind.

She made a place for herself in the rear courtyard of High Hrothgar, perched on top of a stone as she considered all the different aspects of becoming a werewolf. She thought over what she knew of the beasts, and realized that it wasn't much. She'd gone into making this decision very much unprepared with any helpful knowledge.

"Dragonborn."

She glanced over at where the voice had come from, and found Arngeir standing there, hands within the sleeves of his robes. He tilted his head inquisitively at her, clearly waiting for her to speak first.

Cry exhaled a breath, and faced forward again, gazing out across the vast expanses of Skyrim that she could see from this incredible height. "I needed a place to think," she explained.

Arngeir hummed in response, and stepped forward, joining her. They stared at the view in silence for a moment, until he spoke again: "Master Borri mentioned some of the things you spoke to him about, the last time you visited us."

Cry made a face. "And to think, I thought that conversation would be kept between us." She smiled slightly when she saw Arngeir's expression, and she rested her arms across the tops of her knees. "All right, then. What do you have issues with?"

"Issues?" Arngeir asked, and Cry raised her shoulders. "No issues, Dragonborn. Joining the Companions is an honorable choice; the group has been present in Skyrim for centuries, defending her people. Although we Greybeards do not agree with violence, violence in the name of protecting those who are innocent is a type that we may abide by."

Cry smiled again. "Well, good," she said. "Not that I require your permission or anything."

"Of course not," Arngeir said with a smile of his own. "Now, however. This man you mentioned…"

"Oh, please," Cry sighed, hiding her face in her arms. "Let's not talk about him."

Arngeir chuckled. "Very well," he replied. "We will not. I'm afraid any advice I could offer on that topic would be rather useless, anyway." He paused. "The dragon menace, however…"

Cry lifted her head, glanced at him. He was gazing once more out across Skyrim, and she saw his shoulders raise and lower. "We have wondered about the dragons' return," he said at last, "wondered if it was somehow connected to your revelation as Dragonborn. We easily reached the conclusion that the two issue were… interconnected."

Cry, who'd already heard all this from Esbern, nodded. "I've been doing some research of my own," she admitted, and he glanced at her. "I know about Alduin."

Arngeir sighed. "Then you must know that, as he is the one who is causing the dragons to return, he is also the only one who may end their return." Cry nodded again. "And I suppose you've decided that it is your duty, as Dragonborn, to see to that."

"Well, someone has to," Cry said, and Arngeir faced forward once more. "The dragons are terrorizing cities all across Skyrim. People are dying."

"Yes," Arngeir agreed. "It is what people do."

Cry blinked at him, and stood. "That's it? That's all you have to say?" Arngeir did not respond, and Cry scoffed, shaking her head. "Great."

She turned, ready to walk away. She did so slowly, waiting for him to speak up, say something more, but he did not, and she gave up on him. She should have guessed that the Greybeards would be no help to her when it came to the dragons, after they had barely mentioned their return when she'd made her own appearance.

And to top it all off, she still hadn't made her mind up about the whole werewolf thing.

She pushed her way out of High Hrothgar, not even caring anymore. So what if she died? Apparently, the fact that the dragons were coming back wasn't a big deal. Apparently, the fact that they were killing people wasn't a big deal. So, if she died becoming a werewolf because the wolf didn't agree with the dragon she already had inside her, so what? Who cared? Not the Greybeards, apparently.

* * *

"All right," Cry said, planting her hands down on the table in front of where Skjor was sitting. He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised, and she tilted her head. "Are we going to do this or not?"

Skjor smirked, and crossed his arms, leaning back a bit in his chair. "Do what, exactly?" he asked.

"Don't," Cry said, not in the mood for games. "Either this is going to happen, or it isn't. Tell me now."

Skjor examined her for a moment, and then allowed his chair to rest flat on the floor again. He folded his hands on the table. "It's going to happen," he said. "Tonight, you'll meet me beneath the Skyforge. And, please, try to keep this to yourself. We don't want word getting around to the others."

Cry nodded, once, and then she walked away from him, still seething a bit. Her whole trip back from High Hrothgar had been spent sulking, hating the Greybeards, hating Delphine and Esbern for making her hideout while they tried to find Sky Haven Temple, hating the Companions for giving her a reason to seek power within their ranks. She almost wished she were back in Morrowind.

The day seemed to pass by very slowly. She spent most of her time outside in the training yard, swinging away with her greatsword, practicing her technique. She'd noticed that she was struggling a bit, and knew that she needed the extra practice.

As she whipped the blade through the wooden neck of a training dummy, sending the head flying, she spotted Vilkas coming out of Jorrvaskr. He looked slightly apprehensive, catching sight of her, and Cry did her best to ignore him as he crossed the eating area and stood at the edge of it, watching her.

"Your form is sloppy," he finally called, and Cry went still, sword raised. She slowly lowered it, and looked over at him. He stepped down from the dock, and walked over to her. He took her sword, without asking, although Cry did not try to hold onto it, and demonstrated the same swing she'd been about to take. "Like this. Don't let the weight of the weapon carry you. You must be in control of it, at all times, or things will get messy."

He handed the greatsword back, and Cry gazed at him for a moment. There was a reason he'd come outside, and it definitely wasn't to give her fighting tips, considering he hadn't before. She recognized, then, that Vilkas knew what she planned to do that night.

She turned away from him, sliding her greatsword away. "If you've come to try and talk me out of it -"

"I haven't," Vilkas said, and she looked at him, an eyebrow raised. He shook his head. "You are free to make your own decisions. All that I can do is tell you my own experience, and allow you to come to whatever conclusion you like based off of it."

Cry glanced at him once more, saw he meant what he said. Still, she did not think she wanted to hear it, after having struggled with coming to a conclusion for so long already.

"I think I can gather your experience from what I've seen," she said to him, and Vilkas's shoulders dropped as he realized that she would not hear him out. "It makes you irritable, exhausts you. Your mood swings because of it are enough to make any sensible person wary of you. But from what I've seen, you are one out of five." She shook her head, and walked past him, saying, "I'm going to take my chance," over her shoulder.

As soon as she was inside Jorrvaskr, away from him, Cry regretted what she'd said. It had all come off harshly, due to everything she'd dealt with the past several days. She hadn't meant to take her frustrations out on Vilkas, but he'd unfortunately been an easy target. He'd only wanted to help her, and she'd basically spat on him in response.

Still, she couldn't let herself focus on that. As night fell, her anxiety began to kick in. Why had she agreed to this? She wasn't ready to die, nor did she really want to be a werewolf, if she _didn't_ die. She didn't care if all the Circle members had the wolf's blood; she would get to the Circle herself, through her demonstration of hard work. Kodlak would need to notice, eventually, and promote her.

All of these thoughts did not stop her from exiting Jorrvaskr, once the main hall had cleared, and heading for the Skyforge. Skjor stood next to a large rock near the stairs, his arms crossed. He straightened up, spotting her, and nodded, before turning towards the rock. He placed his hand against it, and it slid out of the way of a hidden passage, which he ducked into, gesturing for Cry to follow.

Cry's heart felt lodged in her throat. She ducked into the passage behind him. It curved, and then opened into a small room beneath the Skyforge. Cry paused when she caught sight of the hulking beast standing behind a pedestal in the middle of the room, and Skjor smiled at her.

"Don't you recognize Aela?" he asked, walking around to stand next to the werewolf, Aela, apparently. "She's agreed to be your forebear."

"Uh… fine," Cry said, and she glanced around. "Is there a reason that we have to do this in… here?"

"Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in Whiterun," Skjor told her. "The Skyforge was here long before it was, and the Underforge, where we stand, taps into an ancient magic that is older than men or elves." He fixed her with a look. "We bring you here to make you stronger, new blood. It has been a long time since we had a heart like yours among our numbers."

Cry let herself take a couple of steps further into the room. Aela, in her werewolf form, gazed towards her with narrowed amber eyes, but oddly, Cry did not feel afraid. She knew that Aela would not harm her. She looked at Skjor.

"Why do you do this secretly? Is it because of Kodlak?"

Skjor sighed. "Kodlak has been busy, trying to throw away this great gift we've been granted," he said. "How can something that gives us this kind of prowess be a curse?" He gestured towards Aela. "So, we take matters into our own hands. To seek the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf."

Cry let out a breath. "All right," she said. "I'm ready."

Skjor nodded, and pulled out his sword. Without much ceremony, he grabbed Aela's arm and drew a slice up it. Immediately, Aela's blood began to pool in the pedestal, while the werewolf growled slightly. Once the pedestal had filled a decent amount, Skjor allowed her to move away. He put his sword back in its scabbard, and looked again at Cry.

"The blood calls, sister," he said.

Cry blanched. "You mean, you want me to _drink_ it?" she asked, and Skjor raised his eyebrows. Cry stared at him for a moment longer, before she looked at the dark blood in the bottom of the pedestal. Exhaling, she approached it, and leaned over it. She could see her reflection in the pool.

She swallowed, thickly, and dipped her hand into the blood. It gathered in her cupped palm, which she raised to her lips, and drank from.

Almost at once, a searing pain ripped down her throat and into her chest, spreading into her limbs. She staggered away from the pedestal, her vision going black, fading back in, and then darkening again. Eventually, she knew nothing but pain and darkness.

* * *

Cry awoke, feeling the sharp prick of grass against her shoulders. Her head ached, and she struggled to understand where she was, or even remember what had happened.

"Are you awake?" She turned her head towards the voice, and blinked when she saw the blurry form of Aela standing nearby. Aela, as a human, no longer a werewolf. Memories began to flood back, and Cry groaned, pressing her hand into her eyes.

"I was starting to think you might never come back," Aela said, sounding slightly amused. "Yours was not an easy transformation. But, you're still alive, so congratulations."

"I don't feel very alive," Cry mumbled, and she struggled into a sitting position, frowning down at herself. "Where are we?"

"Near Gallows Rock," Aela responded. "As a celebration for you, we're going to slaughter a group of Silver Hand that have posted up there. You've met them before, haven't you?"

Cry recalled the Silver Hand to have been the ones to attack her and Farkas inside of Dustman's Cairn. She nodded, and glanced around. They seemed to be in the middle of the woods, and she wondered how Aela and Skjor had managed to get her out here.

She then blinked, and looked at Aela. "Did I kill anyone?" she whispered, realizing that when she'd blacked out, she must have transformed, which was what Aela was referencing.

Aela shook her head. "You ran around Whiterun for a while, terrorizing some people who were still on the street, even this late. Skjor and I found you beneath the bridge leading into the city, back to normal but unconscious. We then carried you out here, before people could put two and two together." She smiled. "To be honest, you gave us even more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning, which I didn't think was possible."

Cry blinked a few times, and forced herself into a standing position. She found that she did not struggle to keep her feet, and she looked at Aela again. "All right," she said, and she rolled her shoulders. So long as she didn't kill anyone, she supposed she could be okay with not remembering what had happened.

As she stood still, letting herself readjust to wakefulness, she realized that she felt… different. She did not struggle to see, even though it was pitch-black in the wooded area in which they stood. She could smell all sorts of things, from Aela's woodsy scent to a deer that she could hear stepping through undergrowth yards away. She could hear Aela's heartbeat, which was a steady thrum.

Cry winced, and cradled her head between her hands. "Shit," she muttered, and Aela chuckled.

"It takes some getting used to," she agreed, "but eventually, you won't even notice some things, and you'll only see the use in others. Now, come on; Skjor's already scouting ahead, and I told him we would follow as soon as you woke up."

Cry nodded in agreement, managing to raise her head. She reached up and touched the hilt of her greatsword, just to assure herself that she had it, and then followed after Aela as she headed into the trees.

It didn't take long to come upon Gallows Rock itself, a stone fortress complete with a wall guarding it. Standing within the gate-space was a member of the Silver Hand, who Aela wasted no time in shooting down with a well-placed arrow.

As soon as they were down, Cry heard a few shouts come from beyond the wall, and she ducked through the space in it, pulling out her greatsword. An arrow thunked into the ground to her right, and she looked up, catching sight of two archers standing on top of the fortress itself.

She replaced her greatsword with her own bow, and shot two arrows in succession, aiming first for one, and then the other. Her first arrow met its mark, but the second did not. Thankfully, however, Aela had been right behind her, and an arrow of her own finished off the second archer.

"You need to work on your marksmanship," she commented, and Cry had to admit that she probably had a point. "Inside."

The two of them headed into the fortress, using the entrance at the top of the building, rather than the main one. A gate blocked the way, but after yanking on a chain, Cry led the way down the passage that the gate had guarded, her greatsword once more in her hands.

In the room at the end of the passage, sitting around a fire were two more Silver Hand. Aela remained at the rear while Cry dodged forward, swinging her sword out ahead of her. She easily cut through the one closest to her, but had to duck out of the way of the second, who hurled a mace towards her head. His shout was cut off into a bloody gurgle as one of Aela's arrows found its way into his throat, and Cry looked at her with a grateful nod.

Aela nodded back, and gestured. They kept moving.

They cleared Gallows Rock methodically, working together to do so. Cry couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this, a pure bloodthirst to end the lives of all the Silver Hand she encountered. She supposed that the last similarity had been when she'd dealt with the Forsworn in their many camps, killing them off secretly, one by one, with a blade across their throats.

This was different. This was hand-to-hand combat, running straight at a large man in full armor who wielded a battle axe. Adrenaline pumped through her veins with each clash of her weapon against another's, and she thought she understood Galmar's love of a battlefield just a bit better. Aela's constant words of affirmation were merely a bonus.

They passed through a room filled with cells, and Aela paused in front of one that contained the body of a dead werewolf. Cry frowned, eyeing it herself. She would have thought that werewolves transitioned back to their human forms, when they died, but apparently, she had been wrong.

Aela did not say anything, however, and merely forged ahead, leaving Cry no choice but to follow her. She supposed there was no point in grieving over a werewolf they had not known.

After traversing through Gallows Rock, they came upon a final room, where a large group awaited them, having all converged there as they were alerted to the Companions' presence. Cry dodged backwards as one swung a silver blade towards her, and then she lunged forwards with her greatsword, catching the Silver Hand in his exposed belly.

_Useless armor,_ Cry thought, pulling her sword free. _Might as well not be wearing any._

A Silver Hand carrying a silver greatsword charged at her, yelling. Cry braced herself, and used her own sword to block his attack. The two of them clashed swords for several moments, neither able to get a solid swing in. Cry could feel her muscles straining, and she could hear Aela grunting as she defended herself with her bow and nothing else. This fight had to end.

Cry heaved one leg upwards, and kicked at the chest of the Silver Hand, sending him stumbling backwards a few paces. With a shout, she raised her greatsword, swung it over her head in the move that Vilkas had demonstrated for her, and cut the Silver Hand's head clear off his shoulders. It rolled away cross the room, his body slumping to the floor. Cry exhaled a shaky breath, and turned away, hurrying to help Aela. She came up behind the Silver Hand that was attacking her, and shoved her greatsword between his shoulders. The point of her blade almost reached Aela on the other side of the man, but Cry drew it back out before it could with a grunt.

The room was silent. They'd done it.

Cry breathed outwards, and closed her eyes for a moment, letting her arm fall to her side. And there went the adrenaline, right out of her.

She heard Aela curse, and her eyes opened again as the huntress rushed passed her across the room. She dropped down to one knee. Cry warily approached, and felt her heart jump into her throat when she saw what Aela had fallen beside.

Skjor lay in a pool of his own blood, pale. His eyes were closed, and he had an expression of rage on his face. Cry winced, and glanced at Aela, who's own face reflected Skjor's.

"Those bastards," she hissed under her breath, and she looked up at Cry. "We need to make them pay for this."

Cry nodded. "What do you have in mind?"

"I'm going to stay here, see if there's any information to be found on other Silver Hand locations," Aela replied. "You and I will clear them out, together. The Silver Hand will tremble at our sight."

_Well,_ Cry thought as she headed through a barred off door, that led to the main entrance of Gallows Rock. _At least I didn't die._

Her heart ached for Skjor, however. He should not have gone into Gallows Rock alone. Cry knew that if she hadn't had Aela at her back, she would have been struck down in that first room. However strong Skjor had been, numbers could overwhelm. Clearly, they had.

She only hoped that Aela would be able to bury him on her own. She hadn't asked for Cry's assistance, and Cry thought that maybe Aela wanted to do it herself.

She just had no idea how they were going to explain everything to Kodlak, if they did at all. She had a feeling that they would be keeping at least some of the truth to themselves, considering Kodlak's feelings on the matter of the Companions being werewolves.

Cry frowned to herself as she poked her way towards Whiterun, glad that she could see in the darkness. Skjor had made it seem as though Kodlak wanted to get rid of the idea of werewolves within the Companions completely. She had no idea if that was true, but considering that Kodlak did not deem it a requirement to become a Companion, she supposed it was possible.

Maybe she should try to stop thinking so much.


	22. Chapter 20: An Internal Interlude

**A few things:**

**1\. I have not finished writing this story. **

**2\. As I have not finished writing this story, updates will be sporadic, and under no kind of schedule, so you'll just have to keep coming back to check. **

**3\. I am _taking liberties,_ so don't come at me with your lore. I just want to tell the tale I've crafted for my Dragonborn.**

* * *

Ducking beneath a sword that swung in her direction, Cry shot out her leg and knocked the draugr to the ground before stabbing her blade through its chest. The draugr let out one last guttural noise, and then the light in its eyes died. Cry pulled her sword out of it, and looked around at the pile of dead things she'd created.

"Well," she said, sliding her sword away, "that was that."

She turned and headed towards the Word Wall, eyeing the glowing blue light that was coming from one of the words. She exhaled slowly, and then focused all of her attention on the Word itself. After a moment, there was a warmth in her chest, and the meaning of the word flashed through her head.

Nodding to herself, Cry backed away again.

She had been using up a lot of her time looking for Words of Power. She would go on a job for the Companions, and while she was gone, she would pay a visit to one of the ancient temples that Arngeir had marked on her map. She would then journey through it, and retrieve the Word of Power off of the Word Wall inside.

So far, she'd only managed to collect four of them, which, she knew, was a pretty miniscule number. She was out of temples marked on her map, however, which meant if she wanted to go find more, she would have to visit High Hrothgar.

First, however, she would return to Whiterun, and let Vilkas know that she'd done the job he'd sent her on. With Aela wanting her to take care of the Silver Hand, and with having to make sure she kept up with normal jobs as well, Cry had an array to choose from, and that gave her more opportunities to find Words of Power. That was good, she thought, especially for only a week and a half of work. If nothing else, the perk of not needing frequent rest as a werewolf was worth it all.

After making sure she had looted all the chests, Cry headed outside. The sunlight was bright after the weak light from the candles inside the ruin, and she had to blink a few times in order to get rid of the sunspots in her eyes. When she had, she covered them with her hand so that she could see where she was without a glare.

The sun was almost directly overhead, which really was no help at all. She sighed to herself, and lowered her hand again, glancing around.

The temple had come out on the other side at the edge of a wood, which was probably part of the woods between Whiterun and Falkreath. Whiterun was somewhere, then, and closer than several of the other provinces of Skyrim. So she just needed to figure out which way was east, and she could go from there.

But… without the sun in a better position, she was at a loss.

"Piss," she said to herself, and she turned around in a circle, trying to think. She had entered the ruin from the west, she thought, which might mean that she was further east than she had been. If she was thinking about that wrong, however, she could end up walking in the complete opposite direction of where she wanted to go.

Cry glanced around a moment longer, and decided she would just wait until the sun started to go down before making a decision.

She moved into the woods a bit, and settled down on a rock there, poking at the ground with a long stick. She knew that she really _shouldn't _be waiting; she had already been gone for three days. Someone was probably starting to wonder where she was, and it was probably Vilkas.

She hated Vilkas, him and his nosy questions. Like, "Why were you gone for three days when the job was only in Solitude?" He really needed to leave her to her own business. She had gotten the job done, after all, hadn't she?

That was the biggest problem she had with it. Why did he care what else she had done with her time, so long as she had gotten the job done? He always seemed to _know_ that she had gotten the job done, anyway, so what did it matter when she got _back_ to Jorrvaskr?

She rolled her eyes at the thought of him and his questions, and glared down at the ground. She hated him.

Although, Farkas begged to differ on the matter. He had told her, more than once, that he knew that she didn't hate his brother, and his brother didn't hate her. It was just that they were both too stubborn to admit otherwise.

Cry had retorted by asking Farkas what he knew about such things, and he had responded plainly, "More than you, apparently."

She and the other twin had grown close since their trip through Dustman's Cairn, and her secret had come out into the open during that final fight within the last crypt. She was very grateful that Farkas hadn't told anybody else that she could spew fire from her mouth like a dragon. She knew that if Vilkas was privy to _that,_ she would never hear the end of it.

Other than him keeping the secret quiet, they had shared stories of many other things as well. For one, Cry had told him that she had spent some time in Morrowind, and Farkas had said that he didn't know if he wanted to go to Morrowind, because he didn't see why anyone would leave Skyrim, even if they had the choice. Cry had not told him that she really hadn't had a choice, because that would have opened up a book of secrets that she really wasn't sure she wanted to share with _anybody._

Then again, she hadn't really wanted to share the secret of being the Dragonborn with anybody, either, and here she was. And it was kind of a relief, having someone else who knew about her, and what she could do. That meant that Farkas often came to her rescue when Vilkas was demanding where she had been. He was able to talk his brother down without yelling at him, which was the only way that Cry was able to get away from him, so she supposed that was good. Although, she didn't mind yelling at Vilkas, sometimes, especially on occasions when she knew she would win. Those were good.

Still, Farkas told her it would be better for everyone if she didn't yell at him at all. "Vilkas doesn't yell because he _likes_ to," he had said, once. "He yells because he thinks that's the only way you'll listen to him."

"Well, he's not wrong," Cry had replied, and Farkas had given the ceiling of Jorrvaskr a long-suffering look.

That hadn't really been true, of course. Cry just liked to be difficult, and she had a feeling that Vilkas liked to be difficult, too. She had been patiently waiting for him to say that he wanted to train her, but he hadn't yet, which was annoying. She wanted to be better with her greatsword, and she knew that he was a master at handling such a weapon, and yet he still hadn't offered to teach her anything.

She thought that was stupid. He was the Master at Arms of the Companions, after all. It was his job to help train the other Companions. _And_ she was on the Circle, had been promoted shortly after Skjor's death, thanks to a good word to Kodlak from Aela. Why was he refusing to help train her?

_Probably because he knows I'll kick his ass,_ Cry thought, smiling slightly. She would kick his ass, and she wouldn't even have to use her Thu'um to do it.

Or because she'd chosen to take the blood, and thus the easy way to a position in the Circle. That… that could be it, too. He hadn't mentioned it again, after approaching her that day, but she knew that, with Vilkas's own struggles when it came to his werewolf side, he viewed her differently. She hadn't bothered to hear whatever he had to say on the matter, and that had created a rift.

She tossed the stick she was holding to the ground and glanced up at the sky again, squinting. The sun seemed to be in the same position it had been.

"Damn!" Cry said in annoyance. She pushed herself up off the rock. She was not going to sit around and waste time waiting for the sun. She could find her way back to Whiterun; Skyrim was her home. All she needed to do was keep an eye out for plains.

She made an about face, considered it for a moment, and then turned around again and started walking that way instead.

As she walked, she thought about Skjor, and her heart ached. Although she hadn't known him for long, she had grown to admire him, how brave he was, and how much he cared about the Companions, and how much he appreciated the gift of the beast blood.

Cry had an appreciation for it as well. Thanks to it, she was able to go on multiple jobs a week, because she did not need as much sleep as she had before the blood. The urges were rough to fight against, but she had a feeling that her dragon blood helped with that, for whatever reason. Perhaps the dragon blood was more dominant, and it was able to talk the beast blood down.

Whatever it was, Cry was able to fight the urge to shift more easily than Vilkas, at least. Farkas had told her that was also part of the reason Vilkas was nasty, sometimes. "He had a rough night," the younger twin would say, and Cry would be forced into feeling sympathetic. She knew that Vilkas struggled, had learned as much from Aela and Farkas, who both seemed to have more control over their wolf. Vilkas, for whatever reason, could not get a rein on it.

And that made him pitiable, dammit.

She sighed to herself, and kicked at a rock in her path. So much for hating him, she supposed, when in fact, Farkas was right. She didn't hate him, not at all. She just… didn't know how to handle him, and his mood swings, which weren't even his fault, and it made it even more difficult, because she knew they weren't his fault, and yet she couldn't stop being frustrated with him because of them, and, and…

She paused, and lifted her chin slightly. She didn't know why she hadn't decided to use her heightened senses to find her way back to Whiterun. She _could_ be an idiot, sometimes.

Her nose told her that she was heading the right way, and so she kept moving.

Her thoughts returned to Vilkas, and she couldn't force them to go anywhere else. Apparently, it was time for contemplation.

The worst part, she supposed, was that she didn't want to dislike him, and yet he made it so difficult to like him, even when he wasn't having one of his anger spells. He was just… distant, and surly. It made him hard to approach, and if she couldn't approach him, how could she learn to like him? Besides, maybe Farkas was wrong. Maybe Vilkas didn't want her to like him.

Cry knew that was wrong, however. No one _wanted_ someone to dislike them.

Still. Vilkas seemed to push everyone away, and Cry felt like it was because he wasn't too sure of how people worked. In fact, she was almost positive he didn't know, because he acted as though he didn't have emotions whenever possible towards almost everyone else. Didn't he know it was all right for a human to feel something, once in a while, aside from frustration or annoyance?

She shook her head to herself. Maybe she needed to discuss this with someone else, and not Farkas, because she thought he was pretty biased about the whole subject.

Sighing, she realized there was only one person she could speak with, and decided to stop in Breezehome once she arrived in Whiterun.

* * *

"I'm sorry, my Thane," Lydia said, looking at her from where she sat across the kitchen table. Cry had decided to take the time and eat something, since she was taking a break anyway. While she'd eaten, she'd told Lydia all about her issues with Vilkas, leaving out the whole werewolf bit. "I just… I don't really understand what you are asking for my advice, on."

"How to handle him, I guess," Cry replied, gazing into the empty wooden bowl in front of her. "I mean, I've been doing my best with that, but I just - I think it's gotten worse, since I was put on the Circle, when really, it should've gotten better, right? Because we're equals, now."

Lydia looked thoughtful. "I don't know if that's really the question you're asking," she said, and Cry frowned, glancing up at her.

"What do you mean?"

Lydia tilted her head. "Are you attracted to Vilkas?"

"What? No, of course not!" Cry exclaimed immediately. "How could I be? I mean, he's stubborn, and he's never really said a single kind word to me. Lately, even, he's taken to ordering me around as though I'm still a whelp, when I'm a Circle member, just like him!" She fell back into her chair. "I don't - no. Why would I ever, in a million eras, be attracted to Vilkas?"

"... because he's handsome? And a good fighter." Lydia shrugged. "And he reads. You don't ever find a warrior who also has an interest in literary education." She smiled. "On top of that, from what you've told me, it seems that Vilkas may be attracted to you."

Cry pursed her lips, feeling as though she'd just bit into some bad venison. "No," she said. "That's nearly as impossible as me being attracted to him."

Although it would explain some of what Farkas had been saying to her, recently.

Lydia shrugged again. "I think the best choice would be to talk to him," she said, and seeing Cry's face, smiled. "I'm sorry, my Thane, but if you want to get past this point in your relationship -"

"There's _no_ relationship."

"- you'll need to talk it out, whatever _it_ may be, which could be two very different things for the two of you." Lydia paused, thoughtful. "And, maybe, you should consider saying no to him, sometimes, to remind him that you are his equal, and don't have to listen to everything he says. Just to see what his reaction is."

Cry sighed to herself. So much for talking it out with an impartial party. She pushed away from the table and stood.

"Thanks, I guess," she mumbled. "I'll be back tomorrow, probably, and maybe I'll take you on a job with me?"

"That would be nice, my Thane," Lydia replied, and Cry nodded, before exiting Breezehome, and heading towards Jorrvaskr.

Almost as soon as she walked inside, Vilkas stood in front of her, scowling. "Where have you been?"

"Out," Cry replied, dryly, and moved around him.

"A job that should have taken half-a-day ended up taking you a full day," Vilkas said from behind her, and Cry stopped, rolling her eyes upwards. "Care to explain how that figures?"

Cry turned around to face him again. Calmly, she crossed her arms, and looked him square in the face. "Vilkas," she began, "as your equal on the Circle, I think it's safe to say that I don't have to report to you where I was at all hours of the day." She tilted her head. "Besides that, the fact that you _want_ to know is just the slightest bit creepy. Maybe you should explain to me why you have so much interest in what I do with my time?"

Vilkas's eyes narrowed. "When you're on a job from me, your time is my time," he told her.

"Is that so?" Cry questioned. "Well, then, I guess I'll just ask for jobs from the people who don't feel so possessive." She looked around, spotted Farkas, and called, "Hey, Farkas? Do you have a job for me?"

"Always," Farkas called back, and then looked as though he regretted it when he saw she stood with Vilkas. "Uh, I mean… if you need one."

"Yeah," Cry said, and she glanced at Vilkas for a moment. "I do."

She walked away from him towards Farkas, aware of Vilkas's eyes burning holes into her back. She shrugged him, and their conversation, off, stopping in front of where Farkas sat on one of the benches that lined the hall. He looked apprehensive.

"What was that about?" he asked.

"Just me helping Vilkas realize that we're on the same page," Cry replied. "What's the job?"

Farkas glanced towards his brother, before looking back at her. He sighed. "It's in Falkreath, just some bandits who've been terrorizing the city. Should be no problem for you."

Cry smiled. "You're right," she said, taking the bounty from him. She looked over her shoulder towards Vilkas. "It won't be a problem for me."

Vilkas rolled his eyes, and pushed his way out of the Jorrvaskr. Cry smirked, and turned to face Farkas again, only to find him frowning at her. She immediately frowned back. "What?"

"Why do you do that?" he asked, and Cry furrowed her brows. "Antagonize him?"

_"I'm_ antagonizing _him?"_ Cry demanded, and Farkas crossed his arms, leaning back against the bench. "You must be kidding."

"I just don't understand why neither of you can just _talk_ to one another like normal people," Farkas responded. "If you would talk -"

"Why would I bother trying to talk to him?" Cry asked. "All he ever has to say to me is something degrading, or he's demanding to know where I was. I don't have to tell him where I am all the time, despite what he seems to think!"

"See, and when you _antagonize_ him by replying to that, you give him no reason to think that there's anything else to say to you," Farkas retorted. Cry shook her head, and Farkas exhaled a breath. "I know that there are reasons you don't want him to know where you've been -"

"Multiple reasons. Reasons that are kind of, like, life-or-death," Cry interrupted.

"See, I don't think that's true," Farkas replied. "No one would say anything if you were to tell everyone that you're the Dragonborn, and you know it."

Cry made a face in response, and Farkas sighed. "I just want to help."

"I realize this," Cry said, "and yet… you're not actually being very helpful." She held up the bounty. "I'm gonna take care of this. I'll probably be back tomorrow, mid-day or so."

"Fine," Farkas said. "Vilkas and I are going hunting; maybe we'll run into you on your way back."

"Or maybe I'll avoid the plains, so that I can avoid him," Cry replied, and she walked away.


	23. Chapter 21: It All Happens On The Plains

The following day, Cry mumbled to herself the Word that she had learned from her most recent trip into a barrow, wondering what it was that it did. She knew that it meant 'life', but she did not know what that implied. It could have been anything, really. Life was a very vague word. She hadn't had a reason to try it out, yet, but she was extremely tempted.

Pausing in her trek across the plains of Whiterun, she focused on the fire in her chest that she'd come to recognize as her Thu'um. She let the soul of the most recent dragon she had helped kill fill her with knowledge of the Word. Looking towards the distance, she let the Word build up inside her, and then opened her mouth to release the power behind it.

She was surprised when it came out not as a Shout, but as a whisper, paired with a burst of red energy: _"Laas!"_

Almost at once, she could sense the presence of every living thing nearby. She saw a pack of wolves where they were sleeping behind a cropping of rocks. There was a fox running across the plain, away from a much bigger shape. Cry frowned, focusing on the larger shape, and blanched when the familiar sound of a dragon's roar echoed around her.

"Damn," she said, quietly, and then she turned tail to run. She did _not_ want to have to fight a dragon on her own.

She paused, however, when she remembered how close she was to Rorikstead. The dragon could attack the village, if she did not take care of it first. She couldn't allow that to happen.

Screwing up her courage, Cry pulled her greatsword out of its scabbard on her back, and headed in the direction that she had seen the dragon's life force.

She crept up behind a rock, and peered around it. The dragon was on the ground, gnawing on what looked like the bones of a cow. Cry winced, hoping that any farm nearby hadn't been destroyed, and that the cow had merely wandered onto the plains.

At least the dragon was distracted. That meant she could get behind it and hit it hard with her sword.

Cry slid out from behind the rock, and walked slowly towards the dragon. Its head thrashed as it tore at the bones. Cry shivered involuntarily; she had never fought a dragon on her own before. But she was the Dragonborn. If anyone could fight a dragon on their own, it had to be her, right?

She raised her greatsword over her head, and brought it down directly on the dragon's wing.

The dragon let out a loud roar, and Cry was knocked backwards as it flapped its wings. She rolled over onto her stomach, and gazed upwards as the dragon took flight, spewing hot flames into the air.

"Damn," she said again, and then she scrambled to her feet and towards the rock. Before she could get to it, the dragon's flames found her, and scorched her shoulder. Cry yelped, and dove behind the rock, hissing from the pain in her shoulder.

She closed her eyes, willing the pain away, and slid her sword away as well. She would need to bring it down with her bow, first. Apparently, hitting its wing did not deter it from flying, as she had hoped it would.

She retrieved her bow instead, and slid an arrow against the string. "All right," she said under her breath. "You've trained with Aela. You can hit this dragon. Go!"

She stepped out from behind the rock, set her aim on the dragon, which was circling overhead, and fired the arrow. It sailed through the air, and met its mark in the dragon's flank.

"Yes!" Cry said, happily, but she winced as more pain shot through her arm, and quickly reached for another arrow before the dragon could shout more fire at her. She fired this second arrow, too, but it did not go where she had aimed for it to. It hit the dragon on the wing, but it only seemed to anger the beast, rather than hurt it.

Cry blanched as the dragon landed in the grass, and turned around to face her. She put her bow away, and pulled out her greatsword again. Her shoulder screamed at her as she yelled and sliced at the dragon's face, and then quickly backed away to avoid its sharp teeth as it chomped at her.

Her sword swung out again, and made contact with the dragon once more. The beast roared out of both anger and pain, and she decided that it was a good time to get out of the way.

Cry ducked behind the rock again just as the dragon spewed fire in her direction, breathing heavily. Her sword suddenly felt like too much weight for her to handle, and she wanted nothing more than to strip off her armor, which felt more like it was choking her than protecting her. She closed her eyes against the heat of flames. She had to kill this dragon; it was too close to Rorikstead to leave alive, because it could go after the townspeople.

It was not looking like she was going to be able to handle it herself, however, which meant that she was either going to have to lead it towards the city, so that the guards could help her out, or just risk her life further rather than endanger the people who could not fight the dragon.

She cursed under her breath, and she dropped her sword, giving in to its heavy weight. She couldn't hold it anymore, not with how badly her shoulder was hurting from the burn it had sustained. She sank down the length of the rock until she was squatting, and inhaled a deep breath, trying to steady her breathing rather than continue to pant. She needed to think clearly, and she couldn't when most of her attention was focused on how hard it was to breathe.

She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling in a rhythm. The only things she could focus on were the smell of fire and smoke, as well as the burning of the grass around her, and the skin on her shoulder, which would probably be pretty tasty to any sabrecats or wolves that found her body out here.

There was something underlying it, however, something that she could faintly recognize, because of her heightened werewolf senses.

_Farkas. And Vilkas._

She opened her eyes and peered around the rock. They went wide when she caught sight of the twins, who'd appeared out of nowhere and were currently attacking the dragon, and doing a good job, from the looks of things. The dragon had not taken flight again, and it was snapping first at one and then the other as the one dodged backwards while the other took a swing at the beast's opposite side.

Cry had never been happier to see Vilkas in her entire life.

"Farkas," she called, and she saw his attention flicker in her direction as the dragon's turned towards Vilkas. She waved to him, and he waved back, then had to turn back to the fight when the dragon's head swung around to look at him instead.

Cry inhaled one final time, and forced herself to pick up her sword. She then clambered over the rock and rejoined the fight, swinging her sword into one of the dragon's legs with a yell of pain as her shoulder burned in protest to the movement.

The dragon roared angrily in response, and started to look at her. Cry steadied herself, ready to finish it off by stabbing her blade into one of its eyes, but before she could, there was a heavy weight tackling her to the ground, and she heard Vilkas shouting for the dragon's attention instead.

"Farkas, what are you -?"

"You need to get out of here," Farkas muttered before she could finish her question. "The beast is about to die; do you want Vilkas knowing that you're the Dragonborn?"

"Oh!" Cry pushed him off of her with her good arm, and scrambled to her feet. "Thank you!" she said, and then she raced away, just as the dragon gave a final roar and collapsed heavily to the ground. Cry felt the vibrations of its fall beneath her feet as she scampered away from the scene of the battle, huffing and puffing as she went, her sword's blade dragging along in the grass behind her. She no longer had the strength in her arm to raise it.

As soon as she was far enough away that she wouldn't be able to consume the dragon's soul, she dropped her sword to the ground and pulled off her pack. She dug around inside of it for a health potion, cursing when she couldn't find one. "Damn!"

"Here."

She jumped at the voice, and at the cold item that was suddenly pressing against her uninjured shoulder, but then she recognized Vilkas's scent, and she relaxed, slightly. She accepted the health potion from him, and quickly swallowed it all.

"Thanks," she said, more gruffly than she intended, and she tossed the empty bottle into her pack. Her shoulder had already stopped aching, and she rotated her arm before sliding her pack back on and retrieving her sword from where she'd dropped it. "Uh… I appreciate the help," she added, looking more at Farkas than at his brother.

"You're welcome," Farkas said, rather cheerfully, but Vilkas frowned at her.

"What are you doing out here, fighting a dragon on your own?" he asked, and Cry sighed to herself, but refrained from rolling her eyes.

"Farkas's job he gave me yesterday," she explained, with more patience than she thought she had. "I was coming back from it, and I ran into the dragon. I didn't want it to reach Rorikstead, so I decided to fight it." She frowned at him. "And I was doing an all right job, too."

"You were cowering behind a rock," Vilkas responded coldly.

"I was not _cowering,"_ Cry retorted. "I was taking a moment to catch my breath." She slid her sword away into its scabbard on her back and crossed her arms, glaring at him. "I could've handled it on my own."

"No, you couldn't have," Vilkas said, and then he turned and started to walk away.

Taken aback by how bluntly he'd said that, Cry merely blinked at his back for a moment before stalking towards him and grabbing him by the shoulder. "I could've!" she said, hotly, forcing him to turn and face her again. "It was already almost dead when the two of you showed up! A few more swings, and I would've had it!"

Vilkas snorted. "Yeah, sure," he agreed sarcastically, and he pulled away from her. "Let's go, Farkas."

Farkas glanced between him and Cry for a moment, before clearing his throat. "Brother?" Vilkas paused, and looked over his shoulder at him. "Shouldn't we just travel together? We are all going back to Jorrvaskr, after all."

"I'd rather die than travel with him."

"She'll only slow us down."

Farkas rolled his eyes upwards. "We're traveling together," he said, and then he started to walk down the hill they were standing on, in the direction of Whiterun.

Cry and Vilkas gaped after him for a moment, before exchanging a heated look and going after him. As they went, they continued to mutter insults at one another, eventually running out of things to say aside from single words.

"Shrew."

"Ass."

"Hag."

"Oaf."

"Uncalled for!" Vilkas exclaimed, and Cry gaped at him.

"Un_called_ for? Are you kidding me?"

"Would you both shut up?" Farkas called over his shoulder. "I can barely hear myself think."

"You don't think anyway," Cry and Vilkas said at the same time, and they glared at one another again.

"That's it." Farkas stopped walking, and the two of them ran into him. He turned around, holding up his hands. "You too are going to travel back together, without me."

"Wait, _what?"_

"Do you _want_ me to kill him?"

"Why is everything about _killing_ for you?" Vilkas demanded.

"It's not! It's a figure of speech!" Cry retorted. "Gods, you really don't understand people, do you?"

"I don't understand - you've got to be kidding me!"

"I am not," Cry told him, crossing her arms. "You are completely obtuse about everything normal! The only things you seem to get are fighting and books!"

"What's wrong with my books?" Vilkas asked, scowling, and Cry exhaled.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with the books, it's the fact that you base all of your knowledge off of what you read in them!" Cry said. "There's more to the world than history and battle, Vilkas!"

"I know that," Vilkas said, and Cry lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really!"

"Then why don't you ask Farkas what's actually going on?" Cry suggested.

Vilkas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's not upset at us just because we're angry with each other," Cry told him. "Right, Farkas?"

She turned to look at the younger twin, but he wasn't standing where he had been. She blinked, and spun around, but Farkas was nowhere to be seen. "Farkas?"

Vilkas was also looking for his brother. His head was tilted. "He left," he said, huffing, and then he looked at her. "You made him leave!"

"I did not!" Cry shouted. "You're the one who started this!"

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did!"

"All right, that's enough!" Vilkas said, hotly, and then he looked down at the ground, exhaling sharply. "We're wasting daylight, standing here arguing like this. We should get moving."

Cry let out a breath of her own. "Finally, something I can agree with you on," she told him, and then she turned and started in the direction of Whiterun without looking back at him.

"Cry." She ignored him, keeping her gaze straight ahead. "Cry!" He caught up to her, but she still did not look at him. "Cry, come on."

"I think this will be easier if we don't talk to one another," she said, still focused on the horizon.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Vilkas sighed, and Cry tilted her head, more out of surprise than anything.

"You're _apologizing? Really?_ I never thought I'd see the day!"

Vilkas released an audible breath, and Cry smirked to herself. "If we have to travel together, we may as well do it as two _companions,_ rather than two people who hate one another," he said, slowly.

"You're the one who's insisting on talking," Cry told him. "I'd be very happy to walk along in silence."

"You hate silence," Vilkas said.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Vilkas replied, and she saw him roll his eyes. "You play the lute every night after everyone has gone to bed." He paused. "Well, after you _think_ everyone's gone to bed."

Cry looked at him, a look of mock disgust on her face. "You stay awake and listen to me play? Don't do that."

"I don't!" Vilkas said hotly, defensively. "You play loudly; it keeps me awake." He huffed again. "You should stop doing it."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do," she retorted. "I'm a Companion, just like you, _and_ I'm part of the Circle, just like you!" She glared at him. "You just can't stand the fact that there's more to the Companions than what you thought you knew."

"What makes you think that nonsense?" Vilkas asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I know about you and Farkas, how long you've been at Jorrvaskr. You think you know everything because you were raised as a Companion," Cry said, haughtily. "I must have risen through the ranks faster than any other whelp in Companions history." She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you're just jealous, and that's why you're so awful to me."

"Why would I be jealous of you?" Vilkas queried. _"I'm_ already part of the Circle. I've been in the Circle for _two years._ I've been an official Companion since I was sixteen years old. I have no reason to be jealous of you, _whelp._ Without me, you wouldn't even have been allowed into the Circle!"

Cry was silent for a moment, searching for something to retort with. What she said was, "I bet I could beat you in a fair fight."

Vilkas stopped walking, and Cry did as well, turning to face him. Vilkas gazed at her, his eyes narrowed, and he slowly reached behind him to grab his sword's grip. "You do _not_ want to challenge me," he said, slowly, and Cry reached up to retrieve her own sword. She went further than he had, and actually pulled it from her scabbard.

"I think I do," she informed him, feeling miraculously calm. There was a dangerous glint in Vilkas's eyes, one that she should have been afraid of, but instead it was merely fanning a fire that was burning deep inside her, one that wanted to prove to him that she was just as good, if not better, than he was. She was tired of him, of his dry comments and his refusal to admit that she deserved her position within the Companions, that she had worked hard enough to get to where she was.

It was about time that he actually said something _nice_ to her, because she knew for a fact that he was only acting the way he was because he refused to admit that she was good enough.

She twirled her sword, something she was annoyed to say she'd picked up from him while watching him train, and placed both hands on its handle, settling into a fighting stance. "I'm tired of you acting like I have no right to be in the Companions," she said. "Let's go, right now."

Vilkas gazed at her for a moment, and then he shook his head, and lowered his hand to his side. "I'm not going to fight you," he said.

"Why not?" Cry demanded. She took a step closer to him. "Are you afraid of me? No, I know - you're afraid of _hurting_ me. Let me assure you, you won't."

"Cry -"

"If you won't accept all the other proof I've offered up as a sign that I'm good enough, then I'll have to give you some that you won't ignore," Cry said, speaking over him. "Draw your sword."

"Cry, I'm _not_ going to fight you," Vilkas said. "I don't have to."

"I think you do," Cry said.

"Well, I'm not going to," Vilkas returned, and then he walked around her. "I'm going back to Whiterun."

Cry turned around to follow his movements, lowering her sword. "Vilkas!" she called. "Get back here! I want to settle this!"

"There's nothing to settle!" Vilkas responded over his shoulder.

"There clearly is!" Cry informed him. "You don't believe I belong, and I need to prove to you that I do!"

"You have nothing to prove!" Vilkas said, and Cry frowned at his back as he paused. He turned around to face her. "My opinion doesn't matter. You shouldn't care what I think of you. All that matters is what the others think of you."

"It matters what you think, too," Cry said, and Vilkas sighed.

"Why?"

"Because… because you're a member of the Circle!" Cry said. She slid her sword away, and marched over to where he had stopped. "Your opinion matters because you are one of the highest ranking members of the Companions. Clearly, you must know a thing or two."

Vilkas shook his head. "No," he said. "You were right. The only things I know about are fighting and history. I know nothing about people, about what makes one person better than another. Sure, a Companion needs to be a good fighter, and that's where my opinion matters, but when it comes to everything else, to their heart, I'm a useless judge."

Cry blinked at him, and then she glanced down at the ground. "Well, maybe," she said, quietly, and Vilkas snorted out something that might have been a laugh. "You aren't completely useless."

"No?"

She shook her head. "You must be able to get some sense of a person, even if that sense is wrong, sometimes." She glanced up, and tilted her head at him. "I mean, you trust Kodlak's judgement, right? You believe he's a good man, a smart one, one that you'd willingly follow?"

"Of course. He's the Harbinger," Vilkas said.

"Well then, that's one that you didn't get wrong," Cry told him. "Kodlak must be a good man, worthy of being followed, if he became the Harbinger." She shrugged one shoulder. "You know that."

"That's just common sense," Vilkas replied after a moment, and Cry rolled her eyes.

"You're just as down on yourself as you are on nearly everyone," she said, and Vilkas glanced up to meet her eyes. "Maybe that's something that needs to change, before your attitude towards everything else does."

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you hard on yourself?" Cry asked him, and Vilkas was silent for a moment.

"Because I know that I'm never going to be a great man," he finally said, quietly, "or even a good one. It makes sense to… treat myself the way I do, because I'm just… here."

"You are definitely not 'just here'," Cry said. "Obviously, you must have some redeeming qualities, if you were put on the Circle and made Master at Arms."

"I can fight," Vilkas said, and he let out a breath. "That's about it."

Cry gazed at him. "You know," she said after a moment, "I think Kodlak must have put you on the Circle so that you might be able to realize the better qualities about yourself. You just haven't really done it yet."

Vilkas held out his arms. "Have you been able to discover any of them?"

"No, but that's because you're so nasty to me all the time," Cry said. "Kodlak must have seen something in you, and it's probably because you treat him with respect." She squared her shoulders. "If you treated everyone with some semblance of respect, you'd be much happier with yourself, I bet."

Vilkas frowned. "When did this go from you trying to fight me to you giving me advice on how to be a better man?" he asked, and Cry lifted her shoulders.

"When I realized that was what you really needed, rather than an ass-kicking. And when I got over my resistance to actually talking to you, rather than yelling," she said, and then she started walking again, towards Whiterun. "Come on, it's going to be dark soon."

Vilkas caught up to her after a moment, and they walked along in silence. After some time, she felt him looking at her, and she let out a breath.

"Yes?"

"You're pretty wise," he said, and she let out a snort.

"Thanks."

"I'm being serious," Vilkas said, and from his tone, she could tell that he was. "How do you know so much about people?"

"I pay attention," Cry said. She glanced at him, smiling slightly. "I like to read, too, Vilkas, but that doesn't mean that I keep my nose shoved in a book at all times. It's smart to learn to read _people,_ too."

Vilkas gazed at her for another moment, and then he looked at the ground again. Cry returned her attention to the path ahead of them.

"How do you learn to do that?" She glanced at him once more, and Vilkas gestured vaguely. "Learn to read people?"

"I don't know," Cry admitted after a moment of thought. "I guess it's just something that you grow to be able to do over time." She tilted her head. "I mean, I think everyone knows how to do it on some level, at first, and it just depends on whether or not you decide to get better at it." She smiled. "You, clearly, decided not too."

Vilkas snorted, and her smile grew. "I never really saw a reason," he admitted. "I mean, I grew up with the Companions, who are known for how honorable they are, how brave and passionate they are. I had no reason to try and learn more about them, because what else matters? As long as you're known for being honorable and brave, why would anyone need to know anything else about you?"

"There's more to a person than how honorable or brave they are," Cry said. "I mean, you wouldn't want to talk to someone who you know would only talk down at you because of how they think of themselves, right?"

"No, of course not." Cry offered him a pointed look, and Vilkas smiled. "All right, I get it," he said, and then he looked at the ground. "I am sorry, Cry."

Cry sighed. "It's all right," she said, and then she nudged him with her elbow. "We are going to fight, someday, though. That's something about me; I like to prove myself right."

"All right," Vilkas said, chuckling. "Someday, we'll have an authentic fight. Just you and me, greatswords and nothing else."

"Good," Cry concluded, and then she patted him on the shoulder. "Let's get back to Jorrvaskr."

She continued on her way, and Vilkas walked along at her side, and, for once, neither of them had anything to argue about with the other.


	24. Chapter 22: 21st of Hearth Fire

Later on that week found the Circle, apart from Kodlak, seated around one of the corner tables in the mead hall of Jorrvaskr. They were telling stories to one another, stories of specific jobs, of hunts that they had gone on, creatures they had slain, places they had been. Cry was the only one who had actually spent time in Windhelm, she found out, much to her surprise.

This led to a talk about Ulfric Stormcloak, and the war. Aela said she thought it was stupid, politics leading to killing, especially since it was all so unnecessary. She didn't understand why 'idiotic men' couldn't just get together and talk it out, like _people._

"They're acting like animals," she said with a roll of her eyes, "and that's coming from me."

Cry thought she had a point, but did not say so aloud. However, the topic of the war had brought the conversation to a halt, and the four of them sat silently for a moment, thinking their own thoughts and drinking whatever it was they had in front of them. Cry gazed into her mug of water, frowning to herself as she considered Ulfric's motives for continuing the war. She would never understand it herself, but she supposed that both he, and the Imperials, thought they were fighting for the right reasons.

She wished that they would see that they were fighting for no reason at all, and that _their_ reasons were causing an unnecessarily large amount of death.

"Ulfric Stormcloak was here in Whiterun once," Vilkas said, breaking the lull that had begun with Aela's comment. "There was a grand parade for him and the troops that he'd brought along. His two generals were there, and one of them had brought his family."

"I remember that," Farkas said, nodding in agreement. "Ulfric and his generals rode at the head of the parade, and a carriage with the family followed behind them." He grinned at his brother. "You loved the younger daughter the second you looked at her, Vilkas."

"I did not," Vilkas replied, his eyes on his empty mug.

"Yes, you did!" Aela interrupted. "I remember it clearly. You forced your way through the crowd of people on the street so that you could get closer to her. You even called her name! And she looked at you, and smiled, and -"

"And he bowed," Cry said, softly.

The three of them looked at her in surprise. "How did you know that?" Vilkas finally asked, his eyes narrowed, and Cry looked up, blinking. She hadn't meant for that to actually be said out loud.

In truth, she remembered that day herself. It had been hot; there hadn't been any clouds in the sky. She and her sister and mother had gone along with her father to Whiterun, when he'd went with Ulfric to visit the jarl at the time. They had ridden in a carriage, like Vilkas had said, and been paraded through Whiterun behind Ulfric, Galmar, and her father, with the Stormcloak procession behind them. Cry remembered feeling a bit ridiculous, that day, high above the people that had come to Whiterun to see the young Jarl of Windhelm in person. They had been treated like royalty, and she had found it strange, and even a bit annoying.

Despite there having been hundreds of people, she hadn't missed the young boy who'd pushed his way through the masses in front of him, to get close to the carriage as it moved down the street. He'd called out to her, somehow knowing her name, and she'd looked over at him. She hadn't planned on smiling, but she had, anyway, and then the boy had bowed to her, as though she really had been royalty.

But then the carriage had moved on, and he'd disappeared back into the crowd, lost to it and to the glare of the sun. But she'd known, even then, that she'd find him again, even in another crowd of hundreds.

And here he was. She _had_ found him.

"I was there that day, too," she said in answer to Vilkas's question. "I saw you, when you made your way to the front of the crowd and bowed. I didn't know it was you, obviously." She smiled at him. "I thought you were a bit ridiculous, bowing to her like that. It wasn't as though she were royalty."

"She may as well have been, riding in that carriage and looking all queen-like," Vilkas muttered, and he reached for a jug in order to refill his mug.

"You loved her!" Farkas taunted, and Vilkas snorted, but, notably, he did not disagree.

"How did you know her name, anyway?" Cry asked, feeling curious, and Vilkas glanced at her, before shrugging one shoulder.

"She was the daughter of the left-hand general of the Stormcloak army," he said. "A lot of people knew her name."

Cry knew that probably made some sense, but she saw no reason for Vilkas to have known it, as a young boy being raised by a group of warriors who held no type of allegiance to anyone. Why would he need to know the names of the generals of the Stormcloak army, let alone the names of their daughters?

And yet, he had. He must have had a reason to learn it. Perhaps so he could call it out to her, as she rode past in a carriage in a parade of Stormcloaks.

Cry smiled again, at the thought. It was a ridiculous notion, but one that made sense, oddly enough. It seemed that Vilkas had loved her, as soon as he saw her, and perhaps even before. She had to wonder how their relationship would be different, currently, if he knew that she had been that girl, the daughter of the general who had smiled at him, who he had bowed too, despite the fact that she wasn't royalty.

Still. He could never know. It wasn't safe, for her, or for him, or even for the Companions. Not while Madanach still lived in the bowels of the Silver Mines in Markarth, no doubt still searching for that daughter, to avenge the lives that had been lost to her blade.

"Cry?" She blinked again, realizing that Farkas had been trying to get her attention. She focused on him. Farkas frowned at her. "Where'd you go?"

"Back to the parade," she said, and she grinned. "It was kind of ridiculous, how much fanfare was surrounding Ulfric. It was probably because everyone was afraid of his newfound powers of the Thu'um."

Farkas rolled his eyes. "I've seen it," he said, meaning her use of the Thu'um in Dustman's Cairn. "It isn't that impressive."

"Hey!" Cry said, offended, but she lowered her voice when Aela looked over at them, an eyebrow lifted. "It's impressive!"

"Sure it is," Farkas said placatingly, and he gave her hand a pat before turning away again.

Cry chuckled to herself, and looked at Vilkas, who was finishing up his second mug. Lowering it to the table, he glanced at her, and their eyes met for the briefest moment. An odd expression she couldn't read went across his face before he turned away.

Cry exhaled. She couldn't believe that it had been him.

In other news, Farkas had (unfortunately) figured out when her birthday was (that day). He had also, apparently, been planning a party for her since he'd found out, and as night fell on Whiterun that evening, the party began in earnest. Bottles of mead and ale were purchased from the Bannered Mare, and a bard that wasn't Mikael (thank the Gods) was invited to play. Somehow, word had spread, and more than just a lute player showed up; by the time the party had gotten into full swing, there was a drum player and a flute player present in the mead hall as well.

Cry, who appreciated a party every now and again, was grateful to Farkas, and to everyone else, who seemed to all be having a fantastic time. She supposed it was because they had an excuse to have more than one drink in an evening, and they were taking full advantage of it.

Torvar and Athis had long since broken a set of chairs, and Njada had knocked over a table, after she had gotten into a brawl with Aela. The huntress had won, which was no surprise to Cry, but Njada had given her a run for her money. Ria, who'd been the one to encourage the fight, moved on to the two male non-Circle members instead, to try and encourage them into a brawl that everyone could bet on instead.

As such, before the party had been going on much longer than an hour, Tilma had had to clean up four shattered plates, and three tankards of mead that had been spilt. Cry watched the festivities occur, smiling slightly, from a bench against the wall near the door leading out into the training yard.

Eventually, Farkas sauntered over and joined her, drunk as high heaven, and smelling like it, too. He first, in a slurred voice, wished her a 'happy bir -' (a burp interrupted him before he could get the word out) - day'. Cry thanked him, grinning, and he settled down on the bench next to her, waving his hand around the mead hall, which was a mess. Cry suddenly thought that maybe Kodlak had the right of it, staying down in the living quarters the way he was.

"You thought we wouldn't find out when your birthday was." Farkas scoffed as he took another drink of ale from the bottle he was holding, which Cry thought was pretty dangerous, especially if he ended up tripping over something. "You're really dumb."

Cry rolled her eyes to herself, good naturedly. She knew Farkas was drunk, which was the only reason she wasn't punching him for calling her dumb, but she didn't know how much longer she could sit next to him, with the way he smelled. Plus, she was feeling pretty light-headed, despite having only drunk one bottle herself, and decided she needed some fresh air.

"Farkas, I appreciate the party, really," she said, standing, "but I'm going to get up and go outside, now."

She did so, and was relieved when Farkas didn't try to stop her. She walked past where the bards were playing their instruments beside a dancing Athis and Torvar. At some point in the evening, they had figured out where the barrels of alcohol were hidden, and they'd dragged them out into the open. Torvar was doing a jig on top of one.

Cry pushed her way out of Jorrvaskr, sighing outwards in relief as cool night air began to chill her heated skin.

She inhaled a breath of the fresh air, eyes closed, then let it out and opened them again. When she'd first stepped out onto the sitting area outside, she hadn't noticed that there was already someone there. Now, however, that her senses weren't clogged with the smell of alcohol, she realized that she was not alone.

"Hi," she greeted after a moment, and Vilkas glanced over his shoulder from where he was leaning against one of the wooden posts supporting the roof of the sitting area.

"Shouldn't you be inside?" he asked, facing forward again.

"I was actually hoping to get away from all of it for a minute," Cry replied, moving forward a few steps. She hadn't seen him since dinner had ended, and apparently it was because he had been hiding outside.

When Vilkas didn't respond to her statement, she gestured over her shoulder. "I can leave you alone to go back to your brooding, if you want," she said.

"My 'brooding'?"

"Isn't that what you're doing, looking out into the distance like that?"

"I suppose so," Vilkas agreed after a moment's thought, and then he glanced back at her again. "You don't need to go. I understand wanting to get away from it for a bit; they can be a lot."

"I've noticed," Cry said with a grin. "Must be why everyone's only allowed one drink at meal times, unless it's water." She moved closer to where he stood, glancing around the empty training yard. "It's nice outside."

"Yes, it is," Vilkas replied. Cry paused at his side, and he gestured towards the sky. "That's mostly what I'm out here for."

Cry raised her gaze upwards, and her grin grew when she took in the changing colors and the stars and the moons. "It's very beautiful," she said. "A good reason to come out here." Vilkas nodded.

"So, how old are you today?" he asked, and Cry scowled at him, playfully.

"That's not really a question you should ask any self-respecting person." Vilkas looked hurt, and she lightened her glare, even going so far as to grin, a little. "I'm twenty three."

"That's not bad," Vilkas said, clearly wondering why the question of a person's age was a sensitive matter, and Cry exhaled, glancing up at the sky again.

"No, you're right," she said, thinking about all the birthdays that she had celebrated on her own, and feeling incredibly grateful that she wasn't alone for this one as well. "It's not."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, gazing up at the sky. Their peaceful companionship was interrupted only when someone threw the door behind them open.

"Where are you going?" someone, and Cry thought it was Athis, shouted from inside.

"I'm jus' proppin' the door open!" Torvar shouted back. "It's hotter than Hammerfell in here!"

Cry and Vilkas both turned around in time to see him shove a chair in the way of the door so it wouldn't close before he disappeared inside again. Once he was gone, the two of them exchanged a look, and began laughing.

"Definitely a lot," Cry said, wiping a few tears off of her cheeks.

Vilkas nodded, chuckling, and then he let out a breath. "I don't understand how a whole group of warriors like them can get drunk so easily."

"Mystery of nature, I guess," Cry said with a shake of her head. The music inside had come to a halt, probably because the bards had decided to take a break. She looked at Vilkas, tilting her head. She had never heard him laugh before, she didn't think, at least not like that. It had been a nice sound, she thought, one that she wished he would grace people with more often.

She was still struggling to comprehend the fact that they had met once before. She didn't exactly remember how old she been, but she thought that she might have been eight or so. Thinking about it, she decided that she had been eight, because she knew Ulfric had been Jarl of Windhelm for two years when her parents had died. And that had been when she was ten.

_I think we must have invented love, then,_ she thought to herself, and grinned. If Aela and Farkas had the right of it, Vilkas had been in love with her, or, at least, the girl she had been, at that point in time. She had changed much since then, mostly due to what had happened in such a short period of time. She had killed, many times, since then, had traveled to Morrowind since then, had… had become a new person since then.

She didn't know if he could love the woman she was, now, and she wasn't sure she wanted him to, either. With what she had to do as Dragonborn, and with how she thought that might end, she didn't think that she had time for love, at least… not immediately.

But, standing here with him, in the light from inside Jorrvaskr, and from the moons and stars in the sky, she thought that, maybe… maybe it would be nice, to have someone, since she hadn't had anyone, not really, in years. She thought that maybe… maybe it would be nice to have a family again.

She glanced at Vilkas once more, and smiled a little. She thought that maybe the Companions could be that family.

The music from the bards began again, reaching them through the open door of Jorrvaskr. It was slower than any of the other songs that they'd been playing, and Cry thought that maybe it was a signal from the bards that the party should begin to wrap up soon. Between her and Vilkas, however, the mood changed to something a little bit different than sober.

Vilkas looked towards Jorrvaskr, too, and then he glanced at her. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment before he held out his hand to her.

Cry blinked at the proffered hand. "What's this?" she asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"A dance," Vilkas answered. "If you want it." Cry looked suspicious, and he sighed outward, a huff of breath that disturbed a strand of hair that had somehow gotten into his face. "Consider it a birthday gift, if you want."

"The dance is a gift?" Cry asked, placing her hand in his. "Or the fact that you're being nice to me, for once?"

"Hmm." Vilkas pulled her closer to him, and placed her free hand on his shoulder. He then put his on her waist. "Two gifts in one?" he finally suggested. Cry smiled at him.

"Sure," she agreed, and then she allowed Vilkas to begin leading her in a simple two-step.

The dance grew to be more complicated, however, when they discovered that they both were pretty good. Cry laughed more than once as they spun around, sliding to avoid chairs and tables, and she burst into chortles when Vilkas dipped her back at one point.

"Vilkas!" she exclaimed through her laughter, and he grinned, straightening them both back upright. Cry shook her head at him, still giggling, and his expression changed, slightly. She noticed, and fell silent, gazing at him as they spun around one more time, before slowing to a stop.

Neither of them said anything as Vilkas slowly reached up and placed a finger beneath her chin. Cry blinked at him, and he tilted her face upwards, towards his. Then, without thinking about it first, he started to move his closer to hers. Just when Cry could feel his breath on her cheeks, there was a loud crash from inside Jorrvaskr, and the two of them jumped apart.

"Farkas, you idiot!" a voice that was most definitely Aela's shouted. "That was the last of the ale!"

Farkas shouted something indiscernible back, and Cry let out a breath. She glanced at Vilkas, who had his gaze on the ground. He looked over at her, briefly, and seemed ready to say something, but apparently almost immediately changed his mind, because he suddenly rushed away instead, into Jorrvaskr.

Cry remained where she was, and she reached up a hand, pressing it against her cheek. Her face was warm, and she doubted it was because of the dance that the two of them had just shared. Groaning to herself, she sank down into the closest chair, and hung her head in her hands.


	25. Chapter 23: Kodlak's Request

"Where are we going again, my Thane?" Lydia asked from behind her, and Cry sighed.

"We have to go to Winterhold to do a job for the Companions, and then there's a Word of Power somewhere near the border that I need to go get." She paused, and glanced up at the sky. "I suppose we could have hired a carriage, but what's the fun of that? Besides, if I walk, I have more of an excuse for why I was gone for longer than I should have been."

Lydia sighed, but Cry pretended not to hear it. In fact, she almost didn't, because something had caught her attention up the road aways. It looked like a cart was stopped at the side of it. Someone crouched near it, and Cry could hear them grumbling.

"Uh oh," she said, and then she quickened her pace.

"My Thane, wait!" Lydia called. Cry ignored her, and drew to a halt beside the cart. She could see that one of the wheels was broken. Sitting next to it, looking despondent, was the strangest dressed man she'd ever seen. He looked like a court jester, but Cry had never heard of any jarl in Skyrim having a jester.

"Excuse me," she said, and he looked up at her. "Do you need some help?"

"Oh, yes!" the jester said, immediately jumping to his feet. "Cicero would _love_ some help, kind traveler!" He gestured to the wagon wheel. "The wheel broke, and Cicero must get his mother to her new home."

Cry peered into the cart, and blinked at the large crate in the back of it. Deciding that she would like to get away as soon as possible, she turned to Lydia, who had just joined them.

"We need tools," she said, and Lydia frowned at her, before looking at Cicero, and then at the broken wheel on the cart.

"There's a farm up that path aways," she said after a moment. "I can go see if they'd be willing to help."

"Thank you, Lydia," Cry said, and the housecarl turned and headed up the dirt path that she had gestured to. Cry then turned back to Cicero, and smiled at him. "We'll have your wheel fixed in no time."

"Cicero can't thank you enough," the jester said, clearly no longer upset. "I tried to get the farmer to help me, but Loreius refused!"

"Did he tell you why?" Cry asked, frowning, and Cicero stomped his foot.

"No! He just said that he didn't believe me!"

"Huh." Cry could see why, but she didn't say that out loud. "Well, don't worry. My housecarl will get the tools we need, and we can help you."

"Housecarl?" Cicero seemed surprised by this. He bowed lowly to her. "You must be incredibly important, to have a _housecarl._ Lowly Cicero will be at your service for this, great one."

"I'm not so great," Cry said, and then she placed a hand against her brow and peered in the direction that Lydia had gone. "She's taking a while."

"Oh, the farm is some distance away," Cicero said with a wave of his hand, "and then she has to convince him to help."

"Right," Cry agreed, and she crossed her arms. "Still."

She paced away a few steps, thinking about the best way to excuse herself from the situation. Lydia would forgive her for that, wouldn't she?

All the same, before she could decide, there was the sound of boots on the path, and she turned to see a familiar figure running up the road towards where they were. She frowned as Vilkas reached them, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Something you need?" she asked him.

"I wanted to tell you that you don't need to go to Winterhold," he said, glancing first at her and then at Cicero and his cart. "Aela said she has something more important for you to do."

"Oh." Cry uncrossed her arms. "You ran all the way here to tell me that?"

"I figured you wouldn't want to waste your time, going to Winterhold," Vilkas explained.

Cry smiled at him. "Well, thank you, Vilkas," she said. "That was kind of you."

Lydia returned, then, holding a satchel. "I have the tools, my Thane," she said, and then she blinked, noticing Vilkas. "Vilkas, sir."

"Hello, Lydia," Vilkas replied.

"We don't have to go to Winterhold after all," Cry said.

"Oh, good," Lydia replied, looking relieved, and she gestured towards the cart. "Should I -?"

"Yes, I'll help you in a moment," Cry said.

"Wait, what's going on?" Vilkas asked, and Cry glanced at him.

"We're just helping Cicero here with his cart wheel," she explained, nodding towards the jester, who's head had been turning back and forth between the two of them.

"Oh." Vilkas glanced at the wheel. "I can probably help, if you'd like."

"Sure," Cry said after a moment. "That'd be nice."

Vilkas nodded, and then he turned and settled down next to Lydia. Cry watched him reach into the satchel and pull out a tool, and she smiled.

Cicero suddenly appeared next to her, and he said, quietly but gleefully: "You _love_ him!"

Cry started, and she looked at him. "What?" she hissed, turning around and walking away. Cicero followed her. "No, I don't."

"Yes you do, and he _loves_ you!"

"Stop it," Cry muttered under her breath.

Cicero merely did a small dance, and she gaped at him. He was the strangest person she had ever met.

Sooner rather than later, Lydia and Vilkas had finished with the wheel, and Cicero had paid them both, thanking them happily. Before more could happen, Cry tugged the two of them away, back towards Whiterun. Cry sent Lydia ahead, leaving her and Vilkas to walk alone.

"Did Aela say what she needs done?" she asked him at one point, interrupting the quiet that they had settled into.

"No, she didn't," Vilkas said. "I figured it was her business."

_Probably another Silver Hand camp._

Out loud, she sighed. "Well, hopefully it's not something in Winterhold, because I really didn't want to go all the way out there."

"I didn't think so," Vilkas agreed, and then he glanced sideways at her. "You know, you don't have to accept every job one of us gives you anymore. You're part of the Circle, now; you can say no."

Cry chuckled. "Well, thank you for finally admitting it out loud." He smiled as well, and Cry shrugged. "I guess I'm just used to having to say yes, too."

They were silent for another moment, and then Vilkas let out a breath. "I'm sorry," he said, and Cry glanced sideways at him. "I mean… for…" He sighed. "I don't know. I'm just sorry for how I treated you, those first weeks."

Cry merely smiled, and nudged him with her shoulder. "It's all right," she said. "You got better. It just… took a while. And a knock to the head."

"Speaking of which, we haven't fought, yet," Vilkas commented, and Cry hummed.

"That's your doing, I believe," she said. "You refused to fight me the time I offered, and I haven't had a reason to raise my sword against you since."

"I guess that's a good thing," Vilkas said with a laugh of his own. "Still. You've improved in your sword work, I've noticed."

"Oh, have you?" Cry queried, crossing her arms. "Interesting."

"No thanks to me, I suppose you're thinking," Vilkas continued.

Cry snorted. "You're right. I thought that, y'know, something in you would take pity on the slight warrior who thought she was strong enough to handle a greatsword."

"I think you're doing rather well on your own," Vilkas said. "How long have you been using a blade?"

Cry thought about it for a moment, kicking at a loose stone on the ground. "For a long time," she finally said. "Since I was… five, at least." She smiled slightly at the thought. "My father had a friend who was trained in practically every type of weapon. Even though my mother was against it, he thought it was a good idea for me to learn how to fight, so I did. I trained with axes, swords, maces… a bow, too, although not as much."

"Is that why you joined the Companions?" Vilkas queried, kicking the stone away from her. "I mean, you were already trained to be a warrior. It makes sense."

Cry shrugged her shoulders. "Partially," she said. "There was another reason, too, but I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind."

Vilkas nodded, although she sensed that he wasn't happy with the short end to their discussion of her past and her motives. No doubt he was still curious about what it was that she aimed for, why it was that she had joined the Companions, had risen through the ranks so quickly.

She didn't really know the answer to that second part, and she didn't really want to tell him the answer to the first. No one knew, still, aside from Farkas, and he'd been doing a good job of keeping it quiet. She really didn't thank him enough, for doing that.

She bit her lip as another thought came to mind, and then she sighed and glanced at him. "Vilkas?" He looked at her. "Are we ever going to talk about what happened the night of my birthday?"

Vilkas's shoulders stiffened. "What is there to talk about?" he asked, slowly, and Cry turned her gaze towards the ground.

"Right."

The rest of the walk to Whiterun was spent in silence, and they parted once they'd reached Jorrvaskr, Vilkas walking around to the training yard, and Cry heading inside to find Aela. The huntress was seated at the mead hall table, drinking a mug of something. She glanced up at Cry's approach, and her eyes lit up.

"I've got another one," she said. "Over near the Rift. If we can get our hands on the plans that they've been working on, we'll be able to figure out their next move."

Cry nodded in agreement, and pulled her map from the pack she was wearing so that Aela could mark it with the camp's location. As she was doing so, someone called Cry's name, and she turned around.

Farkas stood near the stairs leading down to the living quarters. Cry took the map back from Aela and rolled it up. She stuck it back into her pack, and made her way over to where Farkas was standing.

"Kodlak wants to talk to you," he said, and Cry blinked at him.

"What for?"

Farkas shrugged. "Dunno. He just told me to find you." He gave her a pat on the shoulder. "The old man is very perceptive. Maybe he just wants to confirm a suspicion."

Cry suddenly felt extremely lightheaded. "You think he knows?" she whispered, and Farkas shrugged again.

"Only one way to find out." He gestured towards the living quarters.

Cry inhaled a breath, and started down the stairs. She pushed her way through the door, and went down the hall to the other end. The doors to Kodlak's sitting room were opened, partially, but she knocked first all the same.

"Come in," she heard the Harbinger say.

Swallowing, she pushed the door open.

Kodlak sat at the table in the corner of the room. He lifted his chin when he saw her, and gestured towards the empty seat on the other side.

"Come sit, youngling," he said to her. "We have some things to discuss."

Cry walked slowly to the opposite chair, and settled down into it. She crossed her legs, closed her eyes briefly, and then looked at Kodlak, who waited patiently across from her. When he saw he had her attention, he said: "I hear you've been busy, as of late."

Immediately, every part of Cry relaxed. This was about the Silver Hand business, not her being a Dragonborn. _Thank the Gods._

"Aela and I work to avenge Skjor's death," she said to Kodlak, who glanced downwards.

"Your hearts are full of grief, and my own weeps at the loss of Skjor," he said. He raised his eyes to meet hers again. "His death, however, was avenged long ago. The two of you have taken more lives than honor demanded. The cycle of retaliation may continue for some time."

Cry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that, just as you viewed Skjor as a brother, the Silver Hand you have slain were the brothers and sisters of the ones still living," Kodlak explained. "Do you not think that they will want to avenge the deaths of those that they have lost, just as you work to avenge the death of one _you_ have lost?"

It was Cry's turned to glance downwards. "I didn't even think about it that way," she admitted, quietly. "Aela was just… so dead set on destroying the Silver Hand, and I was upset with them for what they had done… I saw no reason to think twice about killing them." She shook her head to herself. "I should have thought before I acted, but I didn't, and now… now the Silver Hand have even more of a reason to come for the Companions."

She looked at Kodlak again, who was once again watching her, patiently. "I apologize, Harbinger," she said. "If the Silver Hand come, I will be the first to raise my blade against them."

Kodlak offered her a smile. "Of that, I have no doubt, but before then, I have a task for you." Cry tilted her head in curiosity, and Kodlak relaxed back in his seat. "Have you heard the story of how we became werewolves?"

"I've heard two different sides, one calling it a blessing, and the other a curse," Cry said, and Kodlak let out a huff of a laugh.

"I suppose I can guess who those stories came from," he said, and then he exhaled a breath. "One of them has a nugget of truth, all though it was not thought to be a curse when it was first given to us. No, I suppose back then, it was considered to be a blessing."

"What's the real story, Harbinger?" Cry asked him.

"The Companions are nearly five thousand years old, but I suppose you know that, already." Cry nodded. "This matter of the beast blood has only troubled us for a few hundred. One of my predecessors, a good but short-sighted man, made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven."

Cry furrowed her brows. "That's in the Reach, isn't it? Rather far south, too, I think."

Kodlak dipped his head. "You've heard of it, then. Good. That will make this much easier. The deal made was that, if the Companions would hunt in the name of Hircine, we would be granted great power."

"And that was the werewolf thing," Cry concluded.

"The Companions did not believe the change would be permanent," Kodlak went on. "The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But the Companions were deceived." He eyed her for a moment. "You've experienced what we all have, by this point: the dreams, the effect it's had on our spirits. But what you might not know is what happens after death. Werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds when they die on the mortal plane. For some, that is viewed as a paradise. They want nothing more than to hunt with their master for eternity, like Aela and Skjor. For others, it is a fate that would be avoided. I am still a true Nord, and I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home."

Cry smiled at the thought. Like any Nord, she'd grown up hearing stories of the fabled Sovngarde, Shor's Hall, the eternal feast that awaited all brave Nord warriors upon their deaths. She did not blame Kodlak for wanting it, not in the slightest. It certainly sounded more appealing to her than an eternal hunt.

"So, you want a cure," she said aloud, and Kodlak nodded.

"And I've spent many long years trying to find out what it is. And, finally, I have figured it out; the witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can let us free," he said. "Of course, they won't give it willingly, but that should be no problem for someone who can take their foul powers by force."

"And… I'm assuming that this is where I come in," Cry said, and Kodlak offered her a tight grin.

"I'd ask that you go seek them out, destroy their wicked band, and bring me their heads," he said. "They are the seat of their abilities; once we have them, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity."

Cry considered it for a moment. "Am I to go at this alone?" she asked at last, and Kodlak exhaled a breath.

"The fewer who know about this, the better," he said. "I do not want to start a ruckus over the wishes of an old man. However, the spirit of Ysgramor goes with you, to restore the honor of his legacy."

Cry sighed outwards, and then she stood up. "I'll bring you the heads of the Glenmoril Witches," she said, "and perhaps you will be able to find peace."

Kodlak bowed his head to her. "Talos guide you, lass," he said.

Cry turned, and walked out of the sitting room. She passed Vilkas as he headed towards his room. He lifted an eyebrow, seeing she was coming from Kodlak's rooms.

"Where are you going?" he asked her. Cry hesitated a moment, and then she shook her head. Vilkas gazed at her, and then he nodded. "All right."

"Wait, really?" Cry asked in surprise, turning around to watch as he kept walking.

"Yep," he said, and he paused before he rounded the corner, resting his hand on the wall. He turned his head to look at her, and smiled. "I can learn, too."

Cry stood where she was for a moment, thinking about that, and then she shook her head and kept going. The last thing she needed right now was Vilkas and his vagueness. She had a job to do, one that the Harbinger of the Companions had given her, and she needed to focus on that.


	26. Chapter 24: The Only Choice

It took Cry a lot longer than she cared to admit to actually reach the area of Skyrim where the Glenmoril witches made their home. It was mostly because she hated the Reach, and all it included, but it was also because she debated for a very long time on whether or not to bring Lydia with her. Kodlak had said not to bring anybody, but Cry had fought witches before, and she knew how powerful they could be. The last thing she needed was to end up dead on a quest for the Companions when she had yet to hear from Esbern and Delphine.

In the end, however, her honor had won out, and she'd climbed into the back of a carriage set for Markarth on her own. She had only taken the carriage as far as the border of the Reach, and made her way south towards the location of the cave on foot, which had added more time onto her trip. She hadn't been able to convince the driver to change course and head south, however, which meant that she hadn't had any other choice.

Long story short, she made her way up the dirt path to the cave entrance at dawn of the second day of travel, having been able to walk all night because of her werewolf blood. She had to admit, not having to get much rest was a convenience, but when all was said and done, she knew that she'd rather not be infected with the beast blood, and would definitely ask Kodlak if she could cure herself as well. The only reason she'd taken it was to get on the Circle, after all.

She hesitated outside the cave, peering into the darkness on the other side of the opening in the mountain wall. Even with her heightened sight, she couldn't really see much, but she could definitely smell the rotting werewolf head that was stuck to the pyre next to the entrance to the cave.

If nothing, she was going in to get away from that scent.

Cry pulled her greatsword off her back, and headed into the cave.

There was a passage on the opposite side, lit up by a single torch further down. Cry wrinkled her nose. It stunk inside the cave, too. She just wasn't going to be able to get away from it, was she? She sort of recognized the smell, actually, but she wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was just the dead things all over the place. Inside the cave, she saw, they were deer, mostly.

She made her way down the passage, ignoring the darker one to her left as she reached a large mouth, which opened into the main part of the cave. For a moment, she didn't think there was anything there, but then something hissed to her right, and something else flew past her head, exploding into the wall on her left. She felt it singe her hair, slightly, but she received no other damage.

Cry quickly ducked into a roll and retreated, deciding that she needed to take this a little bit smarter than she currently was. Inhaling and exhaling, slowly, she steadied her breathing before focusing on her Thu'um, and on the Word that she needed to use.

_"Laas!"_

Immediately, she could sense the presence of five beings that weren't herself, and were almost human, but not quite, as well as three other beings that were almost definitely spiders, or maybe skeevers. Almost as soon as she was able to collect all this information, the sense faded, and she blinked to get her focus back.

_All right, Cry,_ she thought to herself, tightening her grip on her greatsword. _You can do this._

She charged into the main area of the cave again. A spider and a witch were there, and both let out noises of hatred at the sight of her. The witch pointed, and the spider charged, hissing and spitting venom. Cry avoided it, and went after the witch first, knowing it was a worse adversary than the spider.

The witch brought up its hands, which were mostly long, dirty claws, and shot a ball of fire at her. Cry barely spun out of the way in time to avoid getting a bad burn, and she pushed forward again. She dodged three more fireballs before reaching the witch. With a yell, she swung her sword, aiming for its neck.

Thankfully, weeks of using the greatsword had improved her strength immensely. There was a sickening sound as the freshly sharpened blade went straight through the witch's neck, clearing the head of the body. As soon as it was separated, Cry spun around, and stabbed her sword into the spider, which had begun to rear up to attack her from behind.

The spider went limp, and she pulled her blade out again, breathing heavily. "Gods," she managed after a moment, and then she reached down to retrieve the head that she had cut off. The witch glared back at her with a vile expression, and Cry winced, before sliding it into the separate bag that she had brought for that exact purpose.

There was an odd cackle, then, and Cry turned. She gathered that there were several other passages connected to the main cavern, all of which probably led to another room, where there was another witch. If her Shout had been right, there were four more, and two more spiders as well.

_I should have brought Lydia,_ she thought, and then she squared her shoulders and readied her greatsword again. She could do that four more times. It was only four, after all. It could have been much, much worse.

Determined, she headed down the closest passage to handle whatever adversary waited down it.

In the end, it took Cry a lot longer to fight the remaining four witches and their pet spiders than she would admit to anyone. It seemed that each witch was more powerful than the last, and that all of them wanted to kill her even more than the one before it. She dodged flames, ice, and even lightning in order to get to the witches and cut off their heads.

By the third one, her arms were burning from the power she had to put behind her swings in order to slice the heads off. She knew that she would be in a lot worse pain the next day, and she made a mental note to take a health potion as she killed off the second spider, which was a lot bigger than the first one had been.

Still, there was a lesson in all this. All of the witches used the same basic battle tactics, which were to retreat to the farthest corners of whatever chamber they were in, and attack her as they hid behind whatever cover they could find. That made it easier for Cry to circle around and get into a blind spot, and kill them.

As she made her way down the passage leading towards the final witch, she felt pretty certain that it wouldn't take her long to get the final head, and then be on her way back to Whiterun. She was rather hungry, and could really use some breakfast.

Imagine her surprise when a blast of fire greater than any she had seen come from the other witches flew towards her as soon as she entered the room.

Cry yelped, and jumped to the side just in time to avoid it, breathing heavily. That _definitely_ wasn't normal. After scrambling behind a large barrel that was probably filled with deer guts, she took a moment to gather her senses. Clearly, this witch wasn't going to take death as easily as the other four had. Clearly, it had realized that she was coming, and was ready for her. Clearly, Cry would need a different tactic to take this one down.

But _what_ tactic?

She could hear the witch skulking around within the cavern. She had come to realize that they either had very poor eyesight, or were stupid, because it had taken them all a while to find her when she had to hide behind something to avoid their magic. This one was no different, which was a plus, and one that could probably be used to Cry's advantage.

She looked around for a moment, searching for something she could use as a distraction. She decided on a small rock, one that she would be able to throw a pretty good distance. Hopefully, it would distract the witch long enough for her to creep up behind it, and get its head.

_Hopefully._

Cry picked up the rock, straightened up just enough that she could throw it, and did so, as hard as she could. She winced as she heard it clatter, and then something else made of glass break. The witch hissed, and Cry heard its movements as it trudged away from her in the direction that the other sounds had come from.

As soon as it was far enough away, Cry slid out from behind the barrel, and darted across the room to where the witch had stopped in front of a brewing station. She prepared to swing her sword, teeth gritted. At the last moment, the witch sensed her presence, and turned around, shrieking, its hands flashing with fire.

Cry wasted no time. She swung her sword as hard as she could. Although she did not get it through the witch's neck, she did manage to cut it right across its chest, which was enough to kill it. The fire flickered out, and the witch collapsed at her feet with a heavy thud.

Cry took a moment, feeling her racing heart in her throat. She swallowed, and pushed some loose hair off of her forehead with the back of her hand, before sliding her greatsword away into its scabbard on her back. She then pulled out a small blade, and sawed the witch's head off of its neck. Holding it up by the hair, she frowned at it.

"You are one ugly bitch," she said, and then she put the head in the bag with the other four, turned tail, and marched out of the chamber.

* * *

Cry returned to Whiterun the following day. A Word of Power that she had gotten the location of from Arngeir had been nearby, and so she saw no reason not to go and get it first, before going back to Jorrvaskr. Kodlak had been a werewolf for years; he could last one day more. Retrieving the Word of Power had been easy, and she had been able to take a night for herself to rest up. Even though her own beast blood didn't allow her to get completely rested, it was certainly a relief to have a night of n_othing. _

Needless to say, as she pushed her way through the gates of Whiterun and headed towards Jorrvaskr, she felt rather refreshed. Her shoulders were relaxed, and the pack of witch heads hung heavily from one of them. She was pleased with herself, and she hoped that Kodlak would be proud of her as well. She also hoped that the old man was right, and that he would be able to cure himself with one of them.

As she neared Jorrvaskr, however, something within her shot up in alarm. There were quite a few citizens gathered at the bottom of the stairs. Pushing her way through them, Cry came to a pause when she saw Torvar and Aela standing over the dead bodies of _Silver Hand._

Cry's heart made its way up into her throat, and she walked over to Aela. "What's happened?" she asked, softly.

"What's it look like?" Aela retorted. "The Silver Hand attacked Jorrvaskr. We got most of them, but we think a few stragglers made it out." She kicked at one she was standing next to. "These two won't be a problem anymore."

Cry's heart had been lodged firmly in her throat. She willed it to return to where it belong in her chest as she pushed her way, shakily. into Jorrvaskr, only to walk into what looked like a battlefield. Bottles lay shattered on the floor, plates had been turned over and broken, weapons knocked off of the walls and books off of their shelves. Littering the floor were many different bodies of the Silver Hand, and one body that make Cry gag.

_"Kodlak."_

She started to move towards where her Harbinger lay still, but someone stepped in front of her before she could take more than three steps. She managed to tear her gaze from Kodlak's body long enough to glance up, and meet Vilkas's furious eyes.

"Where have you _been?"_ he demanded of her, his voice a low growl.

"I… I was on a task for Kodlak," she stammered.

Vilkas looked disgusted. "I hope it was important, because it means you weren't here to defend him," he muttered darkly. "The Silver Hand finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr."

"Vilkas, I swear that I would have been here, had I known…"

"There was no way of knowing, was there? You were gone for _two days,"_ he shouted. _"Two days_ on a job that you probably could have done in one, and come back early this morning! Or don't you find your beast blood to be _useful?"_

Cry glanced around, and saw that several of the other Companions that were inside and straightening up whatever they could, had looked up and were staring at the two of them. Feeling very self-conscious, Cry looked back at Vilkas.

"Could we not do this inside?" she asked, softly. "Let everyone have their peace, and you can yell at me outside."

She pushed her way back out to Whiterun, inhaling the fresh air as soon as she could. Her knees felt shaky, like they wouldn't be able to support her much longer, and she leaned against the side of Jorrvaskr, doing her best to get a handle on herself.

She didn't manage to do a very good job before Vilkas pushed his way through the doors. They closed heavily behind him, and Cry looked at him, not really knowing what to say as he glared at her with a dark expression that she hadn't ever seen before.

"I'm sorry, Vilkas," she finally whispered when he still hadn't spoken. "I… I thought I was doing something important, but _nothing_ is as important as being here in Jorrvaskr to help fight off an enemy. Kodlak asked me to do this, and I did it." She exhaled, and dropped the bag of witch heads at his feet. "He sent me to the Glenmoril Witch coven, to get their heads. He thought that he had found out how to cure himself, and everyone else who wanted to be cured."

Something in Vilkas's expression changed. He bent down to retrieve the bag, and peered into it. His nose wrinkled after a moment, and then he glanced up at her again.

"They're useless, now," he said, dryly, and he tossed the bag off to the side. "We have bigger issues. The Silver Hand took all our shards of Wuuthrad. You and I are going to reclaim them."

"Wait, what?" Cry asked, still not really registering anything that he was saying. She couldn't stop thinking about the fact that she had decided to get a Word of Power rather than return straight to Jorrvaskr. _How could I have been so selfish?_

"We will bring the battle to their chief camp. There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung. We will avenge Kodlak, and they will know terror before the end," Vilkas continued, paying no attention to her. "We leave immediately."

Without another word, he turned and went back inside, no doubt to gather some supplies for the journey to the Silver Hand chief camp. Cry remained where she was for a moment longer, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of all that was happening. Kodlak was dead, Vilkas was pissed, and they were going to go kill off the rest of the Silver Hand.

_Great._

She retrieved the pack that carried the heads, and pushed her way back into Jorrvaskr as well. After placing the bag into one of the cabinets in the mead hall, she approached Kodlak's body. Farkas sat beside it, cross-legged and looking exhausted. Cry settled down next to him, and gazed down at Kodlak herself. She wished that she could say he looked at peace, but he didn't. Far from it, actually.

Something inside her threatened to snap in half, but she willed it to stay together at least until she and Vilkas returned. Glancing at Farkas, she saw that whatever it was inside of her had already snapped inside of him, and she placed an arm around his shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, Farkas," she whispered, burying her face against his arm.

His shoulders raised and lowered in response. "In battle, good men die in return for the bad men," he said, softly.

"Isn't it terrible?" she asked, raising her head again, and he shook his own.

"It is that way of the world," he said. "It's the way it has always been, and always will be. The Companions learn this at a young age." He put his arms around her. "You should know it already, too."

"I do," Cry murmured, gazing down at Kodlak again. "Believe me, I do."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Vilkas called her name. She glanced towards him, and then at Farkas, who blinked, as though bringing himself back to the present.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Vilkas and I are going after the Silver Hand," she said, and Farkas frowned almost at once.

"That is not what Kodlak would want."

Cry furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"He was never one for revenge. Vilkas knows that." Farkas looked at his brother for a moment, and then down at Kodlak again. "I suppose he'll always be thickheaded."

Cry let out a short chuckle, and hugged him tightly. "We'll be back soon," she said. She then stood, and made her way over to where Vilkas waited near the doors of Jorrvaskr. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"We must," Vilkas replied simply, and then he pushed his way outside, giving Cry no other choice but to follow him.


	27. Chapter 25: True Companions

Cry came to realize shortly into their journey to the Silver Hand hideout at Driftshade Refuge that Vilkas refused to waste any time. He wanted to see the end of the Silver Hand, and he meant to see it as soon as possible. He cut down wolves and skeevers and spiders that met them on the way without any remorse, swiftly killing with his greatsword, barely giving Cry a chance to do anything.

He would not speak to her, and Cry did not blame him. He was angry with her, and talking would only slow them down. Two reasons to stay silent. There was probably a third, one that she wasn't entirely sure of the name of, but perhaps one she could guess: he was hurt. If he was anything like her…

Well, that was a door she didn't want to open, not just then. They were heading off to kill what remained of a mercenary group that had been after their own faction for years. Cry figured it was the wrong time to open up doors leading to feelings of the heart that didn't exactly match feelings of the mind.

She also realized that Vilkas was a very good fighter. She had known this already, but seeing how he handled the different wildlife, she was brought face-to-face with warrior Vilkas, rather than just Master at Arms Vilkas.

A third thing she realized was that she and Vilkas made a very good fighting team, especially when they were faced with their first human adversary of the trip.

A group of bandits had set up camp on the road they were taking to reach Driftshade, which was a bad thing for them, because Vilkas was having none of their nonsense, especially when they made the bold decision to try and rob the two of them.

Vilkas had cut off the head of one immediately, and Cry had quickly moved around him to stab into the one that jumped towards Vilkas as soon as her companion's head had been cleared of his shoulders. Vilkas retaliated, then, by killing the one that jumped towards Cry, bringing an end to the bandits.

When they were all lying on the ground around the two of them, Cry glanced at Vilkas, who calmly cleaned his sword's blade off in the snow. He seemed not to have noticed the magic that had just happened with the two of them and their swords, and Cry turned away again, deciding not to comment on it. He wasn't in the mood, obviously, and she really wasn't, either.

They reached Driftshade Refuge in the early morning after the Silver Hand attack on Jorrvaskr. There was only one Silver Hand standing guard outside, which Cry thought ridiculous. Vilkas dispatched him without much ceremony, and pushed his way into the Refuge itself. Cry sighed, and followed after him.

The main door inside, which led directly to where they wanted to go, was barred on the other side.

"They were expecting us," Vilkas said. "The fact that they only had one man on duty outside makes me think they don't expect us to do much damage." He adjusted his grip on his greatsword. "They're in for a nasty surprise."

"Was that you admitting I'm good?" Cry asked, glancing at him and hoping for some kind of sign that Vilkas was going back to the man that she'd gotten to know over the last weeks. Alas, his eyes were still cold as steel, and she turned away again. "Never mind."

"Let's go," he said. He cut across the room in front of her and headed into an open door on the left. Cry followed without much of a choice.

She caught up with him, only to find that he had already killed the two Silver Hand in the next space. He glanced at her only briefly. "We're not going to leave any of them alive," he said. "I'm going to go ahead; you stay back, and make sure I get them all."

He started to leave again, but Cry was not going to have that. "Vilkas," she said, as firmly as she could manage, and he paused, looking back at her. "The last time one of us went ahead on their own, they died," she said, keeping her voice hard. "Do you want that to happen again?"

There was a shift in his expression, but it was barely there. If she hadn't known him as well as she did by that point, she probably wouldn't even have caught it. He closed his eyes tightly, and turned away from her again. It was then that Cry realized what he had been planning on doing, and she let out a breath.

"You're doing so well, Vilkas," she said, softly. "Don't wreck that in your thirst for vengeance." She took a step towards him, and placed a gentle hand on his arm. She was rewarded by the fact that he did not jerk away. "Vilkas," she continued. "Let's do this the way that Kodlak would have wanted us to, as _warriors,_ and not as beasts."

There was a moment of silence, and she could almost feel Vilkas's internal struggle. He wanted to listen to her, she knew, it was just so hard to see past the fact that the Silver Hand had acted so wickedly, and not to retaliate in kind. Still, she would not remove her hand from his arm, not until he got through it.

Finally, _finally,_ he relaxed under her hand. His eyes opened, and they were clear. There was still a fire in them, but it was a fire that she wanted to see, not one that she was afraid of.

"You're right," he said. "We should do this in the way of the Companions, the original Companions." He offered her a smile. "I'm sorry."

"No, I am," Cry said. "I should have known what you were struggling with from the beginning." She gave his arm a squeeze, and then let go. "Are you ready?"

Vilkas nodded. "Are you?"

"Always," Cry replied, and she pulled out her sword. Twirling it in the manner that she had adopted from watching him train, she grinned at him. "Let's do this."

They moved further into Driftshade Refuge together. Methodically, making sure to take down every last Silver Hand, they worked their way through it. Cry made sure to watch Vilkas's back, and she could tell he was watching hers. They fought the Silver Hand like two Companions of old would, with a power fueled by the fact that they were capable, and they were fighting with a Shield-Sibling who was also capable. It was interesting, the feeling that Cry had as they made their way through Driftshade, and interesting what she felt once they had reached the last room, and had taken down the very last Silver Hand.

As Vilkas went around and made sure they were dead, she approached the table they had been sitting at. On top of it, in a crude pile, were the fragments of Wuuthrad. She carefully slid them into a coin purse, and then placed that into her pack.

Vilkas walked over to where she stood. "Did you get them?" he asked, and she nodded, pulling her bag back onto her shoulders. "Good. Hopefully, they aren't ruined beyond the point of Eorlund being able to put them back together."

"Is that the end goal?" Cry asked in surprise, and Vilkas glanced at her.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he queried, poking his head into a cupboard in the corner.

"I don't know," she said. "I just… never really thought about it." He turned back around, holding a small coin purse, and stuck it into his own pack. "We should probably get back to Whiterun."

She turned, and started to walk up the stairs that were leading to the door that had been barred off. "Cry." She stopped when he said her name, and turned around to face him again. Vilkas still stood at the bottom of the stairs.

"I…" He paused, and then let out a breath. "Thank you."

"For what?" she questioned.

"Talking me down," Vilkas responded. "I was… incredibly tempted to just… shift, and let the wolf take care of all these bastards." He kicked at one of the Silver Hand, who moved limply from the force. "It was better that we did it the way we did. Kodlak would… be more approving."

Still, Cry could tell that he didn't sound sure, even about that. "Do you really think so?" she asked, and Vilkas shook his head.

"No," he said, quietly. "I don't. Kodlak didn't care for this kind of nonsense, for returning what was given like this. He would have probably given both of us a talk about letting our hearts get the better of us once we returned to Jorrvaskr."

Cry took a few steps back towards him. "Do you regret what we did here?" she asked, and he hesitated a moment.

"I would like to say no," he said at last, "but I don't think I can. Even though we handled this in the way true Companions would, it was… brutally unnecessary, to take them all down." He glanced at her. "Nothing to be done about it now, however."

Cry wished there was more for her to say, but she really did not know what there was in response to that. Vilkas offered her a smile.

"It's all right," he said, moving up the stairs to join her. "It's over, and you're right; we should get back to Whiterun. They'll be preparing the old man's funeral."

Vilkas moved ahead of her up the stairs, and Cry glanced back towards the dead Silver Hand momentarily before following him.

* * *

It was raining in Whiterun when they returned, and Vilkas was the first to notice how empty the streets seemed. "A lot of people will be at the Skyforge," he said, picking up his pace a bit. "We should hurry."

They jogged together to Jorrvaskr, and up the steps to the Skyforge. Indeed, it seemed most of Whiterun had shown up for Kodlak's funeral. The old man was laid on a pyre over the forge itself, dressed in his wolf armor. Cry inhaled, and paused at the top of the stairs. Vilkas moved into a spot next to where Aela stood.

"Who will start?" Eorlund asked from the other side of the area where the forge was located.

"I'll do it," Aela said. She inhaled. "Before the ancient flame…"

"We grieve," the others said, softly, and Cry found herself saying the same, although she hadn't known what the appropriate response would be before then. It was as if something inside of her had been alerted to it.

"At this loss…" Eorlund said.

"We weep." Again, they all spoke, aside from the Whiterun citizens.

"For the fallen…" Cry glanced sideways at Vilkas.

"We shout." Everyone spoke, and he glanced at her.

"And for ourselves…" Farkas said, and Cry quickly faced the forge again.

"We take our leave."

Aela approached the pyre, and set it alight with the torch she held. She then turned around to face the gathered crowd. "His spirit is departed. Members of the Circle, let us withdraw to the Underforge, to grieve our last together."

The crowd started to break up, and Cry was about to follow the other Circle members down the stairs when Eorlund stopped her.

"Do you have the fragments of Wuuthrad?" he asked her, and Cry nodded wordlessly, pulling her bag off of her shoulders. She retrieved the coin purse she had put them in, and handed it to the blacksmith. "I have a small favor to ask you," he said, peering into the purse.

"Which is?"

"Kodlak kept a piece of it close to him at all times. Would you go and retrieve it from his quarters? I don't think I'm the right one to go through his things," Eorlund said.

"And you think I am?" Cry asked him.

"Better than me," he said. "At least you'll be delicate about it."

Cry snorted. "The last thing I am is delicate," she said, and Eorlund smiled. "I'll bring it to you."

"Thank you," he said, and he turned away from her towards the forge.

Cry headed down the stairs, and into Jorrvaskr, passing where the Companions who weren't Circle members sat at the outdoor area, all of them looking glum and resigned. She ducked inside, and went down to the living quarters, stepping into the empty Harbinger's rooms at the end of the hall apprehensively. It was odd, knowing that no one was in there, waiting to speak with her. More often than not, Kodlak had been there, seated at the table in the corner of the room, waiting to offer advice, or even simply to listen.

Her heart ached as her eyes landed on the table, and she quickly passed it by, wiping at her eyes, which were beginning to tear up. _Hold on, just a little while longer,_ she thought to herself, heading into the bedchamber.

She went for the bedside table, and pulled open the drawer there, first. Inside, she found the fragment. Underneath it was a small leather journal.

She hesitated a moment, her hand holding the fragment of Wuuthrad, and aching to pick up the journal. She glanced over her shoulder. No one would come downstairs and see her reading it. Perhaps she was _meant_ to read it, and that was why she had been the one to be sent down to retrieve the fragment.

She placed the fragment down on the table itself, and picked up the journal. She sank down on the edge of the bed, and opened it.

The first few pages spoke of a dream that Kodlak had had, about the fate of Harbingers that had come before them, and how they were all dragged to the Hunting Grounds, ruled by Hircine. He spoke of someone who helped him free the Harbingers from the Hunting Grounds.

Afterwards, he wrote about mentioning the dream to the other Circle members at the time of the dream. Aela and Skjor were, unsurprisingly, unbreaking in their decision to go to the Hunting Grounds in their afterlife, while Vilkas struggled with the idea of it, and Farkas was generally unbothered.

Then, Kodlak wrote about her arrival. Cry felt something twist inside of her when he wrote that she had been the one to be in his dream, to help him fight against the Hunting Grounds fate that seemed to await all Companions. She also learned that Vilkas had been struggling with fighting the will to transform for quite some time.

Kodlak wrote about how Cry was an adept warrior, but how he was reluctant to reveal her part in his dream to her. He wrote about how he had been searching for ways to cleanse his blood, and how he had realized that the choice to allow the Companions to become werewolves was a mistake.

He wrote about how Cry was continually proving herself, how he was unsure of what her response to the question of the beast blood would be. He wrote about how he had known that she and Aela had been taking their urge for revenge out on the Silver Hand long before he had spoken to her about it.

He wrote about having regrets that he had not been given the chance to speak with Cry more often. He wrote about how he thought that her appearance in his dream marked her as the one to replace him as Harbinger. He wrote about how he was certain that she would be able to carry the Companions' legacy, how she was the best suited to the role of Harbinger.

He wrote that he hoped that he would be able to teach her in the ways of the Harbinger, and reading this, tears came to Cry's eyes. He had wanted to teach her. He had wanted to mentor her, wanted to prepare her for the role. And he hadn't been able to, all because of things that she had indirectly caused. He had wanted to be cured so badly, had wanted to ensure that he was around to teach her how to lead. And he hadn't been able to.

She bent her head over the journal and let out a sob. _Oh, Kodlak,_ she thought. _I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

"Cry?"

She closed her eyes, and quickly closed the journal, turning her body in such a way that would hide the fact that she had been reading it. Vilkas stood in the doorway leading to the bedchamber. He frowned when he saw the tears on her cheeks.

"Sorry," he said, beginning to turn away. "I just wanted… never mind. When you can, meet the rest of the Circle in the Underforge. We have some things to discuss."

He walked away again, and Cry glanced down at the journal. She placed it gently back into the drawer of the bedside table, and closed the drawer itself. She then glanced around the room, wondering if maybe it would become her own, soon. She didn't know how the process of choosing a new Harbinger went, but if Kodlak's wishes were known throughout the Circle, she didn't seen any reason why she wouldn't be put in the position.

Something inside of her yelled for her attention, then, and she half-heartedly gave it. _What about the dragons? You know, Alduin, the_ World Eater? _Are we just going to… I don't know, completely ignore that?_

The dragons. She had completely forgotten about the dragons. She hadn't completely forgotten that she was the Dragonborn, but she had forgotten that, apparently, she had a destiny to fulfill that was completely separate from the one that Kodlak had thought she had to fulfill.

_There's no reason I can't fulfill both, though, right?_ she asked herself. _I can still deal with the dragons, and then come back and be Harbinger, right? That is, if they want me to be Harbinger. I definitely won't force myself on them._

She nodded to herself. There was no reason she couldn't do both. She would just have to remember that she had a dragon problem to deal with, and not let herself get completely absorbed with Companions duties, like she had.

She wiped her eyes again, picked up the fragment of Wuuthrad, and stood up. She glanced around the room one final time, and nodded again, more to Kodlak's spirit this time, rather than to herself.


	28. Chapter 26: Companions Of Old

Cry entered the Underforge to an argument, which, really, shouldn't have surprised her, since everyone in the space was a Nord. Vilkas and Aela were the ones shouting at one another, while Farkas stood off to the side, looking weary. Cry walked over to him, and listened to what the other two had to say.

"The old man had one wish before he died," Vilkas said, "but he didn't get it. It's as simple as that."

"Being moon-born is not so much of a curse as you might think, Vilkas," Aela retorted, her arms crossed. Fark exchanged a glance with Cry, who lifted her shoulders. They'd begun the argument, and they could finish it. She doubted either one of them would hear what she had to say, anyway.

"That's fine for you," Vilkas said, lowly, "but _he_ wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor, and know the glories of Sovngarde. And all that was taken from him."

"And you avenged him," Aela said.

Farkas spoke up, for the first time, and Cry was glad he did so, because it was a necessary point. "Kodlak did not care for vengeance," he said.

"No, Farkas, he didn't," Vilkas agreed, and he turned back to Aela, eyes narrowed. "And that's not what this is about." Here, his voice lowered, and he took a step towards Aela. "We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood."

Cry looked at Aela as a moment of silence grew in the Underforge, and she saw the huntress's hardened expression collapse as she turned her gaze to the ground. "You're right," she murmured, and Cry's shoulders fell. "It's what he wanted, and he deserved to have it."

Vilkas looked down at the ground for a moment, and then his shoulders set, and he glanced over at Cry. She frowned, confused by the expression on his face. "Kodlak used to speak of a way to cleanse his soul, even in death." He looked at Aela again. "You know the legends of the Tomb of Ysgramor."

Cry heard the sound of the Underforge opening, and she glanced in that direction, but saw nothing there. Frowning to herself, she faced forward again, looking at Aela.

"'There the souls of harbingers will heed the call of northern steel'," Aela quoted, sighing to herself. "But we can't enter the tomb without Wuuthrad, and it's in pieces, like it has been for a thousand years."

"And dragons were just stories, and elves once ruled Skyrim," a voice said, and Cry turned to see Eorlund exiting the shadows. The shaft of a weapon poked over his shoulder, and Cry blinked. She'd never seen a design like that. He paused in the light of a sconce, and looked around at the four of them. "Just because something is doesn't mean it must be. A blade is a weapon. A tool. And tools are meant to be broken, and repaired."

"Is that… did you repair the blade?" Vilkas sounded as though he couldn't believe it, and as Cry connected the dots in her own mind, she found that she really couldn't either.

Eorlund drew the weapon hanging off his back, and Cry blinked at Wuuthrad, amazed.

"This is the first time I've had all the pieces, thanks to our sister, here," Eorlund said, nodding towards Cry. "The flames of Kodlak shall fuel the rebirth of Wuuthrad, and now you shall take it to meet him once more." Eorlund carried Wuuthrad towards where Cry stood, and then held it out to her, having to use both hands. "You should be the one to wield it in battle."

"No, I really shouldn't," Cry said, taking a step back. "I didn't - I wasn't even here, to help defend Jorrvaskr. I have no right."

"You retrieved all the pieces, didn't you?" Eorlund asked, and Cry glanced at Vilkas.

"I wasn't the only one to do that."

Vilkas closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he gave her a nod. "Kodlak would want it that way," he said, and then he smiled slightly. "Besides, didn't you tell me that you've trained with all manner of weaponry?"

"Yeah, but this is, like, an axe that a god among men carried around," Cry mumbled. Nonetheless, when Eorlund held it out to here again, she took it, hefting its weight in both hands. She was suddenly incredibly grateful that she'd only been using a greatsword as a weapon for the last several weeks.

Eorlund stepped away again, and looked around at them all once more. "You all will journey to the Tomb of Ysgramor," he said. "For Kodlak."

As one, the three Companions drew their weapons of choice, and looked at Cry. She exhaled a breath, gazing down at Wuuthrad for a moment, before she looked at her Shield-Siblings. "To battle," she said. "For Kodlak."

"For Kodlak!" they agreed, and then she led the charge out of the Underforge, and out of Whiterun, holding Wuuthrad out in front of her.

* * *

The Tomb of Ysgramor was about what Cry expected it to be: basically the same as all other tombs in Skyrim that she had either passed by, or desecrated in her search for Words of Power. As such, when the four of them walked inside, she did not wrinkle her nose at the musty smell of the place.

She did, however, make a face as Aela and Farkas moved forward into the tomb's main room, but Vilkas stopped her before she could follow. His own expression was a mixture of regret and sorrow, and she frowned at him.

"What is it?"

He inhaled, slowly, and did not respond to her inquiry. Instead, he said, "This is the resting place of Ysgramor and his most trusted generals." He met her gaze. "You should be cautious."

Cry's frown deepened. _"We_ should be cautious," she corrected, and Vilkas shook his head, once. "What are you saying? You're not coming?"

"I can't," Vilkas replied, lowering his gaze once more. "I didn't - I let vengeance rule my heart. I can't go any further feeling this way."

"You and I took Driftshade together," Cry reminded him, and Vilkas offered her a sad smile.

"You would not have gone about it the way we did, had I not pushed you to," he told her. He nodded towards Wuuthrad, which she'd carried with her the whole journey, and was really starting to wear on her arms. "This is why I did not argue, when Eorlund suggested you be the one to carry the axe into battle. You deserve to enter this resting place, to see Kodlak again. I do not."

"Vilkas -"

"I gave the heads to Aela," he said, not allowing her to speak. "I imagine you'll understand what to do when the time comes."

Cry gazed at him for a moment longer. "How do you know we'll be able to do this without you?" she asked at last, and he smiled again.

"You're Companions," he said. "This is what you're built to do."

Cry let go of Wuuthrad long enough to place a hand on the back of Vilkas's neck. She tugged him down, until she could press her forehead to his.

"If I die down there," she whispered, "I will come back to haunt you."

Vilkas chuckled, and she let him go, smiling. He nodded to her, and she nodded back, moving around him into the main room, where Farkas and Aela waited for her. Alongside them was a life-size statue of whom she assumed was Ysgramor. His hands were positioned in such a way that she imagined he was meant to be holding something. It didn't take her long to realize that he was meant to be holding what _she_ was holding.

Carefully, she leaned up and placed Wuuthrad into it's appropriate space, in Ysgramor's grasp. Almost at once, a pathway opened to them. Cry pulled out her own weapon, and twirled it around, inhaling. "All right," she said, looking at her Companions. "Let's go."

They approached the tomb much as she and Aela had approached Gallows Rock, and how she and Vilkas had eventually decided to approach Driftshade. They fought together, methodically, as though they'd been fighting together for centuries. Cry watched Farkas and Aela's backs, and they watched hers, as well as each others. Together, they fought their way through the spirits of Companions that had come before them.

Unfortunately, even the bravest Companion had a fear, and Farkas's came to life as they neared a spider-web covered room. Cry sensed his hesitation, even before he actually came to a halt, and she approached him, as Aela moved to scout ahead.

"Farkas?" she asked, and he glanced at her.

"I'm sorry, Cry," he said, his voice low with shame. "But… ever since Dustman's Cairn, the big crawly things have been too much for me."

Cry smiled at him, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone has a fear," she told him, "and spiders are a common one. You shouldn't be ashamed."

He exhaled, and looked at her again, smiling slightly himself. "Say hello to Kodlak for me?" he asked, and she nodded.

"You know I will. Head back to your brother."

Farkas dipped his head, and turned, jogging back the way they had come. Cry went after Aela, who did not seem surprised that Farkas had gone.

"He mentioned the spiders to me," the huntress said as Cry joined her. "I tried to tell him that his werewolf blood makes him immune to their diseases, but I don't think he got it."

"It's all right," Cry said. "We can handle the rest on our own. Let's go."

In the end, they did handle the rest on their own, although it was significantly more difficult without Farkas alongside them. Cry suffered from more than one bite from a spider, and by the end of that space, she was limping. Aela, who'd lingered in the background, where her arrows were most helpful, moved forward to support her weight, but Cry shrugged her off.

"I'm fine," she said. "We have to keep moving."

"And we won't be able to, with you limping like that," Aela told her. "Besides, there are bound to be more spirits ahead, and you won't be able to fight them if you can't stand up properly." She pulled Cry's pack free from her shoulders, and rooted around in it for a moment, searching for a potion. She came up with one, after a moment, and forced it into Cry's hands. "Drink. We can afford to take a moment for it to work."

Cry sighed, but drank the potion all the same. She felt it heal her injuries after one a few minutes, and she gingerly rested her full weight on the leg that she'd been limping on. It no longer hurt, and she exhaled a breath of relief, looking at Aela.

"Thanks," she said. "Come on."

Aela had been right; there were more spirits waiting to fight them, but after taking the potion, Cry felt rejuvenated, and they were easier to take down than the spiders had been, even. They eventually reached a long hall of sorts, with large wooden doors blocking the way further. A group of four ghosts attacked, and Aela retreated to shoot from a distance, leaving Cry right in the middle of them.

She spun in a complete circle, slashing her sword along with her movement, and managed to get hits on all four spirits, which gave her space to move away from them. She cut one down before it could recover and turn to face her, and one of Aela's arrows found another. Cry wasted no time in lunging at one of the other two, and when she turned around, she saw the last one turn to ash at the tip of an arrow.

"Good work," Cry said to Aela, who nodded in agreement, and gestured towards the double doors. Cry jogged up the stairs they sat at the top of, and pushed them open.

On the other side, they found a large chamber, lit all over by candles. In the middle of the space was a pedestal, and standing behind it was a docile spirit, his hands raised over the flame that flickered in the center of it. Cry slid her greatsword away, and approached the spirit, exhaling when she saw who it was.

"Harbinger," she said, and he glanced up. He smiled, seeing her.

"You came."

"Of course we did, once we knew that we could," Cry answered.

Kodlak gestured towards the fire. "My fellow harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here. Trying to evade Hircine."

Cry glanced around for a moment, wondering if there were other spirits in the room that she hadn't noticed. There were none, however, and she turned back to Kodlak with a frown. "There's nobody else here."

"You see only me because your heart knows only me as the Companions leader," Kodlak explained with another smile. "I'd wager old Vignar could see half a dozen of my predecessors." He looked away, his eyes settling on something in the distance. "And I see them all. The ones in Sovngarde. The ones trapped with me in Hircine's realm."

He looked at her once more. "And they all see you. You've brought honor to the name of the Companions. We won't soon forget it."

Cry remembered his journal entries, then, but she shook the thoughts away. There were more important matters at hand. "Farkas says hello," she said, "and... and Vilkas thinks that you can still be cured," She gestured to Aela. The huntress handed her the heavy bag of witches' heads.

Kodlak stared at it for a moment. "I can only hope," he said at last. "Throw one of them into the fire. It will release their magic, for me at least."

Cry made a face as she set the bag on the ground, and reached into it to retrieve a head. She grabbed it by the hair, and as quickly as she could flung it into the pedestal.

Almost as soon as the head hit the flames, Kodlak hunched over, and seemed to be ripped in two, only his second half took on the shape of an ethereal wolf. The wolf snarled at Cry and Aela, who shot an arrow into it without much ceremony. Cry smiled to herself, and kicked the wolf square in the throat as it lunged at her. The wolf yelped, landing off to the side, and Cry quickly stabbed her greatsword into its neck.

The wolf faded. Cry slid her greatsword away once more, and looked around for Kodlak. She found him standing on a raised part of the floor, looking just the slightest bit less ghostly. She approached him, and it took a moment before he looked at her.

"I think we did it," she said, and he smiled.

"You did, and so slain the beast inside of me," he told her. "I thank you for this gift. The other harbingers remain trapped by Hircine, however." His eyes rested on that point in the distance again. "Perhaps from Sovngarde, the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds. It would be a battle of such triumph."

Cry grinned. "I'd like to see such a battle," she said, "and perhaps even participate in it."

"And perhaps, someday, you will," Kodlak said, turning back to her. "But for today, return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your victory." He dipped his head to her. "And lead the Companions to further glory."

Cry blinked. "Kodlak -"

"Goodbye, Shield-Sister," he said to her, and then he faded, and was gone. Cry stood where she was for a moment, her mind reeling. That was it, then. That was Kodlak stating his wish for her to be harbinger after him aloud. It was real.

"Did I hear right?" Aela asked from behind her, as though to further plant the notion. Cry turned to face her, and saw that Aela's eyebrow was raised. "Did he say you were to lead the Companions?"

"He did," Cry sighed. "Does this upset you?"

Aela did not respond for a moment. Eventually, however, she shook her head, and offered Cry a smile. "Not at all," she said. "You've earned the right. Your strength and honor are apparent to all. And it's my honor to be the first to address you as Harbinger." She looked around for a moment, and just like that, the heartwarming feeling that Cry had felt was gone. "Well, I suppose that's that, then."

"Yes," Cry agreed with a small smile of her own. "I suppose that's that. We should return to Vilkas and Farkas."

They discovered an easy route, back to that first room. Vilkas and Farkas both waited there for them, and Cry thought she saw relief pass over Vilkas's face as they both entered the space.

"It's done, then?" he asked, and Cry nodded. His shoulders fell. "Good. The old man deserved that much." He sighed. "Well, then, I suppose it's back to business, once we return to Jorrvaskr. We'll need to hold a Circle vote, to decide who will be the next harbinger -"

"Actually, we won't have to do that," Aela said, and Vilkas looked at her, an eyebrow raised. Aela gestured towards Cry. "I heard Kodlak say out loud that he meant for her to be the one to take his place."

Vilkas and Farkas looked at Cry instead, who grinned sheepishly, and held out her arms. "Not that I'll take it, if anyone else would rather have it," she said. "Really. I don't think I deserve the title."

"Except that you do," Vilkas said, quietly, and Cry looked at him. He smiled, slightly, and dipped into a small bow. "There is no one I would rather follow."

"Here, here!" Farkas agreed, clapping his hands together.

"But, I -"

"Cry, you assisted in taking out the last of the Silver Hand. You killed off all of the witches of the Glenmoril coven. I can't even count the number of jobs you've done since you've joined us," Vilkas told her. "You've earned the position. Kodlak was right to give it to you. So please don't try to argue with us, because it will just make things so much more difficult than they have to be."

Cry glanced at Farkas and Aela, before she fully looked at Vilkas. He met her eyes, and, looking at him, she decided that she would take the job, Dragonborn duties be damned. If the Companions wanted her, then who was she to say no?

"All right," she said, smiling again. "I won't argue."

"Good," Vilkas said with a nod, and he looked around. "I think I'd like to stay here for awhile, I think, take a look around. Farkas?"

"You know I go where you go," Farkas replied with a shrug, and Vilkas turned to Cry.

"With your permission, Harbinger." He said this with a small smirk on his face, and Cry had to refrain from rolling her eyes.

"It would have been easier if you'd just come with us on our trek inside, but of course you can stay." She looked at Aela. "I think Aela and I have seen enough, however."

"You've got that right," Aela said, putting her bow onto her back again. "Let's get out of here."

Cry nodded, and watched her exit the tomb, before turning to the twins. "We'll see you back at Jorrvaskr. Don't stay away for too long; we have work to do."

"Yes, Harbinger," Farkas replied, cheerily, and Cry _did_ roll her eyes this time. Farkas headed deeper into the tomb, leaving Vilkas with Cry. She began to turn to go, but Vilkas caught her arm.

She looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "What is it?"

He hesitated a moment, and then he exhaled, and shook his head, letting go of her arm. "Nothing, I suppose. Apologies. I will see you at home."

Both of Cry's eyebrows raised, and he winced, seemingly realizing what he'd said. "I - you know what I meant," he grumbled, and then he stalked off after his brother.

Cry smiled to herself for a moment. She'd known exactly what he meant.


	29. Chapter 27: Rewrite the Stars

**Update****: I finished it. It'll all be up by the end of April.**

* * *

It didn't take long for Jorrvaskr to adjust to its new harbinger, and it didn't take long for its new harbinger to adjust to her new role. For the most part, the whelps were all agreeable enough with the fact that she'd been chosen, and although the Circle did not tell them how they knew Kodlak had wanted her, they knew that she'd been the one Kodlak had named. As such, they did not complain.

Apparently, too, the jobs that the Companions took care of mostly went through the Circle members who weren't Harbinger. That was something Cry found odd, but she had come to the conclusion under Kodlak's leadership that he wasn't necessarily a leader, more like someone who offered guidance and advice when a Companion sought it from them.

Cry had never been one to give out advice, really, but since it was the task she now claimed, she did her best. And, really, it wasn't as hard as she'd thought it would be. Aside from advice giving, the Circle would bring different jobs to her, ask her if they were worth the coin, which Cry thought was a task she was better suited to.

When she wasn't working as harbinger, she was spending more time with her Companions, Vilkas especially. Oftentimes, he would approach her, asking if she wanted to go hunting, and Cry would say yes. More often than not, Farkas or one of the whelps would tag along with them, which meant that they were never truly alone. Cry didn't think she would mind such an outing, however.

She learned a lot about Vilkas while they were home at Jorrvaskr, as well. He was the one to come see her in the harbinger's quarters the most, and they would sit at the corner table in the sitting room for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Cry was amazed to find that she never got tired of hearing Vilkas talk, and the sentiment seemed to be returned. She only wished she could be completely truthful with him, as he seemed to be with her.

Finally, they got a chance to take an outing of their own, without anyone else coming along with them. Farkas had gone with Torvar on a job in Rorikstead, and Aela had gone out hunting with Njada and Ria. Athis was busy with his two-handed weapon training. Cry decided to take advantage of this, and approached Vilkas where he sat at the long table in the mead hall, reading, as usual.

"What are you reading this time?" she asked him, and he glanced up, smiling a bit.

"Fiction, actually," he said, setting the book down. "I took your advice, and you're right; it can be just as interesting as history."

Cry grinned, and gestured with her head towards the doors of Jorrvaskr. "How do you feel about some giant hunting?" she questioned.

Vilkas made a face of apprehension. "Just the two of us? That doesn't sound very wise."

"It isn't, and that's what will make it interesting," Cry told him. "Let's go!"

Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed for the doors. She sensed him following along behind her, and she smirked, picking up her pace a bit as she made her way through Whiterun towards the main gates. Vilkas kept up with her, rather easily.

Once they were outside the gates, Cry broke into a run, heading for the plains, where giants were known to roam. Vilkas chased after her, and she heard him breathing, heard him running on her heels. Cry laughed, pumping her arms as she raced across the grassy ground, leaping over a stream in her path. She heard Vilkas do the same, and land on the other side of it, stumbling a bit.

"Hah!" she called back to him. "You need to work on your balance!"

"Coming from you!" Vilkas shouted back, although his voice was much closer than she expected it to be. Suddenly, she hit the ground, hard, Vilkas on top of her.

"Ouch," she complained, although she was giggling as well. She elbowed at him. "Get off me, you big oaf!"

Vilkas chuckled, and rolled off of her. Cry flipped onto her back as well, and they stared up at the sky for a moment, both getting their breath back. Cry exhaled, and glanced over at him, admiring his profile. He turned his head to look at her as well, and she quickly turned her attention back to the sky.

"All right," she said, and she flipped herself up to her feet, leaning over to help him up as well. "C'mon, we have giants to catch."

"This is not a good idea," Vilkas told her, following her towards a large rock. They both leaned around it, and Cry caught sight of a giant first. She nudged Vilkas.

"There's one, over there," she murmured. "And it looks like he's alone. We can take him easily. I'll go around, distract him, and you get him from behind."

"Cry…" Vilkas said, warily.

"Charge!" Cry said, and she raced away from the rock, running around until she was within sight of the giant. She waved her arms in the air, and jumped up and down. "Here, you big stupid!" she shouted up at him. "Look here!"

The giant made an angry noise, and stomped his feet a little. He pulled out his club, a big wooden thing, and waved it in her direction. Cry dodged backwards, avoiding it based on its shadow, and looked for Vilkas. She spotted him standing near the rock, waving his arms wildly, and she made a face, wondering why he wasn't following along with her plan.

When she felt the ground move beneath her feet, and heard grunting from behind her, felt hot air on her back, she realized why. Slowly, she turned around, only to find herself face to face with a mammoth.

"Shit," she said, quietly, and then she ducked down as the mammoth shook its head at her, attempting to get at her with its tusks. She slipped beneath its belly, and scooted out from beneath it on her stomach, using her elbows and knees to propel her forward.

Once she was out of shadow, she jumped to her feet, and raced in Vilkas's direction, almost positive a look of terror existed on her face. The thought was confirmed for her when she saw the grin on Vilkas's own. He joined her as she sprinted past the rock where he stood, meeting her stride for stride.

"Told you," he said, panting a bit.

"Shut up!" Cry retorted, and she picked up her pace when she heard the giant bellow. "Now is definitely not the time."

They two of them ran once more for the gates of Whiterun, leaving the giant and his mammoth behind them. They didn't stop running until they reached the doors of Jorrvaskr, which they fell against, breathing hard. After a moment, Vilkas burst into laughter, and Cry snorted in response.

"I can't believe you thought that was a good idea!" Vilkas said, still laughing, and Cry offered him a playful glare over her shoulder as she pushed her way into Jorrvaskr first.

"It seemed like a good idea, at the time," she said, and Vilkas chortled, walking past her. "Stop laughing at me!"

"I just…" He stopped himself, and let out a breath, before he looked at her, his eyes twinkling. "You amaze me."

Cry's shoulders fell, and she ducked her head, grinning. "I do?"

"Yes," Vilkas responded, and then he shook his head. "But don't ever do that again."

"Don't tell me what not to do," Cry said, and she shoved him, amiably. "I'm _your_ Harbinger, remember?"

He nodded. "All too well."

"Cry."

She turned away from Vilkas, and saw that Farkas had approached. She raised an eyebrow, and smiled at him.

"Back already," she said. "Must have been an easy job."

He shrugged slightly. "It was." He then held out a letter towards her. "This came for you, while you were out," he said, looking between her and Vilkas with a knowing expression.

Cry snatched the letter from him, and offered him a warning look. "Thank you, Farkas," she said.

He nodded, and then turned around, walking away from them again. Cry glanced down at the letter, and felt her face drain of color when she saw the emblem on the seal.

"Cry?" Vilkas must have noticed her change in mood, because he was suddenly gazing at her with concern in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Cry said, quietly. "I just… I need to read this. I'll talk to you later."

She walked away from him, holding the letter from Delphine tight in one hand. She hurried down the stairs into the living quarters, pushing her way through the doors and practically sprinting down the hall to her sitting room. Once there, she closed the door, and then sat down at the table in the corner, setting the letter down on the table in front of her.

She had been expecting it. Of course she had. The whole reason she was even here with the Companions was because of what was most likely in that letter. Delphine and Esbern had figured out the location of Sky Haven Temple, and they wanted her to come to wherever it was, to finish what they had started, to find out what exactly she was meant to do about Alduin, the World-Eater.

And yet… for a while, she had forgotten about it. She had allowed herself to get wrapped up in the Companions, in her new role as Harbinger, and, as much as she hated to admit it, in Vilkas. What had been the day they had just spent together, if not an outing shared by a couple?

She shook away the thought. The last thing she and Vilkas could be was a _couple,_ especially now that she needed to get back to her Dragonborn duties, and whatever fate they had in store for her. Esbern's fears about Alduin's return were doing nothing to brighten the outlook she had on her future, but she supposed that, if she was meant to die in order to defeat Alduin, then so be it.

And that meant that she could not let herself linger here in Jorrvaskr, as the Harbinger of the Companions, or with Vilkas, for any longer than she already had.

She reached for the letter, ready to open it. Before she could even pick it up again, there was a knock on the closed doors to the sitting room. Cry dropped her hand to the table. She already knew who it was on the other side, and she did not want to face them.

"Cry?" Vilkas sounded worried. "Could I come in?"

She let out a sigh. She really _shouldn't_ let him in, but she knew she would have to talk to him sooner or later, and she figured it would only get to be harder if she waited.

So, she stood up, and went to the doors. She pulled one of them open, and Vilkas immediately backed away a few steps.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and she nodded, once. "You don't look it."

"Thanks," she said, and tried to force a smile, but she couldn't bring herself to it. Vilkas noticed, and the crease between his eyes deepened.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I can't, really," Cry said. She turned around, walking back over to the table, but leaving the door open. Vilkas followed her into the sitting room, closing the door himself. He turned around to face her, again, and Cry shrugged one shoulder. "It's just… something that I let myself ignore for a while is suddenly rearing its ugly head again, and I need to… to deal with it." She sighed. "It's kind of my destiny, I think."

"You believe in that sort of thing?" Vilkas queried, and she shrugged again, both shoulders this time.

"I'm sort of bound to believing in it," she said. "There's really no other explanation, so…" She looked at him. "I might need to leave the Companions."

"What?" Vilkas sounded like he thought she was kidding. "You can't just do that. You're our Harbinger."

"I know," Cry said, "which makes this so much harder." She turned her gaze to the floor. "You'll be able to handle it, while I'm gone, won't you?"

"Well, maybe, but you're not leaving, so I won't have to."

"Vilkas -"

"Cry." She paused, and glanced up at him. He looked… strange. There was an expression on his face that she didn't think she'd ever seen on anyone before. He looked helpless, confused, and obstinate, all at once. "You're not going."

"You can't really stop me," Cry mumbled.

"I love you."

She bowed her head, and closed her eyes, tightly. "See, that's what I was hoping you _wouldn't_ say," she whispered.

"It isn't as though I've been trying to hide it," Vilkas said, and then he paused. "Although, maybe you just couldn't tell, because I really don't know how to show it."

"You've done your best," Cry said, and then she looked at him again. "I still have to go, Vilkas."

"Then, can you at least tell me where?" he asked, gently. Cry shook her head.

"It's better if I don't," she said, and then she turned around. "I think I'm going to go to sleep. If you want, we can try to talk about this again in the morning, when I… well, I guess I won't be better rested, but I'll have had some time to think." She began to head towards her bedchamber.

"Why do you push me away?"

Cry stopped walking, and bowed her head. There was genuine hurt in Vilkas's voice, something she'd never thought she'd hear.

"I'm _trying,_ here, Cry. Can't you lend me a hand?" he asked, and she inhaled, slowly.

"I can't love _you,_ Vilkas," she said, her voice soft. "As much as I want to, I can't."

"But why?" She sensed him move closer to where she had stopped, just outside the doors to her bedchamber. "Why can't you?"

_Maybe you should tell him,_ Cry thought to herself, and then she cursed the thought. That wouldn't help the situation whatsoever; he'd only get angry with her.

"I just… I have a path that I'm set on, and… and you're not part of it, even though I wish you could be."

"That's not the first time you've said that," Vilkas said after a moment. "You seem dead set on thinking that fate is supposed to pull you miles away from me." He reached out, and placed a hand on her arm, grabbing it gently. When Cry didn't pull away, he turned her around to face him, and reached a hand up to cup her cheek.

"I've never felt the way I feel about you before," he whispered, gazing at her. "So, who's to say that you're not my destiny?"

"It's not that easy, Vilkas," Cry said, her heart aching. Gods, she loved him _so much._ "It might seem like it, with us both here, inside Jorrvaskr, not thinking about what's outside, but I have to, and if you knew, you'd realize that it's hopeless, you and me." She pulled away from him. "We can't just rewrite the stars."

"The stars shouldn't be the ones to decide things," Vilkas insisted. "You are the one I was meant to find, I know it."

Cry frowned at this, and had to turn around again, because she had been _so close_ to getting away from him, to disappearing into her bedchamber. "What do you mean?"

Vilkas looked desperate. "I… I fell in love with you, before I even met you."

Cry's heart dropped. _He knows. He knows I was the daughter of the general that he knew the name of, the one who smiled at him. He knows, and he knows what I did to all those Forsworn, how I had to leave Skyrim. He knows, and yet he's… he's still willing to be with me._

"Kodlak said that it had to be that I fell in love, that there was no other explanation for it." He held out his hand to her. "I… I treated you so awfully, because I… I think I was afraid to admit it, to admit the fact that you were the one I had felt, that night."

_He's not talking about the parade. This is something different, something more recent._

"What are you talking about?" she asked him.

"There was a night, several months ago," he said. "I was outside, and I looked at the sky, and I realized how beautiful it was. I'd never noticed it before. When I told Kodlak about it, he said that… that noticing beautiful things for the first time was a sign of being in love. I didn't know what the old man was talking about, because there was no one I could have fallen in love with." He gazed at her. "But it was you. I know it was."

Cry shook her head. She didn't want to hear this, not when she was trying so hard to get away from him, so that it wouldn't hurt more when she left than it already was going to. "It's impossible."

"It's _not_ impossible," Vilkas told her. "The fact that I'm here right now should prove that to you."

She gazed at him for a moment, and for that moment, she allowed herself to consider it, consider what it would be like if she didn't push him away any longer, if she _let him in._ All she had to do was tell him who she was, tell him what she was supposed to do. Maybe even showing him the letter from Delphine would be helpful in her explanation. It was sitting on the table to her right. All she had to do was pick it up, and hand it to him, and then answer any questions that he might have.

That was it. If she could just do that… then she could have him, could love him the way she wanted to, the way he loved her.

And then the moment passed, and she shook her head again, lowering her gaze. "You know I want you," she whispered. "It's not a secret I try to hide." She let out a breath. "But my hands are tied, Vilkas. I'm sorry."

She turned away from him, and headed into her bedchamber, closing the door behind her, practically right in his face. She then leaned back against it, and closed her eyes, inhaling slowly in order to keep her tears back.

He knocked on the door. "Cry. Cry, please don't just walk away from the conversation like that." She bowed her head. _"Please._ I just… I just want to know…" He trailed off, and she knew why. There were so many things he probably wanted to know, so many things that he deserved to know, that he couldn't give name to just one.

"Please," he said again instead, sounding as though he were prepared to stand out there all night, waiting for her to come out.

Cry squeezed her eyes shut, willing him to go away. Eventually, the knocking on the door faded, and she thought that maybe he had gone.

After a moment, however, he spoke again: "Cry, I don't need to know why you can't tell me. I don't even want to know what it is. I just… I want you to stay, for however long you can, and… and if you really, _really_ have no choice, then you can go. But… but let me love you, first. Let me show you that I can love you, and that… that you should want to come back to me, once you do whatever it is you have to do."

Cry's eyes opened. She moved away from the door. She turned around to face it, and opened it. Vilkas blinked at her, once they made eye contact, and then he exhaled, slowly, and straightened his shoulders. "Will you let me?"

Cry's response was to close the space between them, latch her arms around his neck, and kiss him, deeply. It had been a while since she'd kissed anyone, aside from the thief in Riften, but this was so much different than that had been. This was… love, not passion, although there were definitely some passionate undertones, especially in the way Vilkas grabbed at her waist, pulling her tightly against him. But within the kiss itself, it was love, and Cry knew it was love, even though she'd never been in love before in her entire life.

She knew it was love, and she decided that she was not going to let it go, not until she absolutely had no other choice.

They pulled away at the same time, both having run out of breath. They lingered close, however, breathing the same air, although she didn't think they were thinking the same thoughts. They might have been sort of the same, however, except maybe for a few things.

She saw that was true, in the way Vilkas was looking at her, and from the smile on his face. She grinned back, and then hugged him close, her hands around his shoulders. She pressed her face into his neck, breathing him in. Despite the day they had spent outside, she thought he smelled pretty good, and decided that was probably just the werewolf.

"Not too bad, for someone who's extremely out of practice, eh?" he asked, chuckling.

"It was a little sloppy," she murmured back, smiling against his skin. "We'll need to work on it."

"Glad to see you won't be lacking in sarcastic comments," Vilkas said, dryly, and it was Cry's turn to laugh. She lifted her head, and met his eyes. Vilkas brushed a strand of hair out of hers. "I can understand, what it means to realize how beautiful something is for the first time, and recognize it as love." He smiled a little when Cry frowned at him. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" Cry asked, in the same dry tone he'd used moments before.

"Things can change," Vilkas said. "You know that."

Cry huffed out a breath. "I do," she muttered, thinking about her first impression of him, the day she'd first joined the Companions over a month ago.

"Then don't be mad," Vilkas concluded. He kissed her again, with more softness this time. "You're right; we should get some rest. We had a long day today."

"It was a good one, though, wasn't it?" Cry asked, and he grinned.

"It had its ups and downs."

"Hey, at least neither of us was hurt," Cry told him, and Vilkas nodded.

"True. Thank the Gods for that." He raised an eyebrow. "That's probably the last time I allow you to dictate an outing, however."

Cry rolled her eyes. "You're no fun."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "I didn't mind running with you," he murmured, and Cry tilted her head until their lips met. She hummed into the kiss, and Vilkas had to be the one to pull away, smiling slightly. He ran his thumb over her cheek. "There are more interesting ways to run out of breath, I suppose," he teased.

"Ew," Cry said with a laugh. "Don't ever say something like that again."

"Not so good?" Vilkas asked, and Cry shook her head. "All right, I'll do my best to refrain."

"Not from the kissing though."

"No, of course not," Vilkas, and to prove it, he kissed her again. And again. And again. And all thoughts of Sky Haven Temple, of dealing with the dragons, faded from Cry's mind.


	30. Chapter 28: The Truth Always Comes Out

"Harbinger!"

Cry looked up from the letter she was examining to find that Aela stood in the doorway of her sitting room, looking panicked. "What is it?" she asked, setting the paper down.

"A dragon is attacking Whiterun!" the redheaded huntress exclaimed.

Cry's heart immediately fell into her stomach, and she felt certain the color drained from her face. "No," she said quietly, under her breath. "No."

"Yes!" Aela insisted, pushing the door open further. "The Companions must help, or the city will be destroyed!"

Cry blinked. She knew that if she went outside to help fight the dragon, and to make it sure it stayed dead, her secret would be revealed to the Companions, and she didn't know how they would react to such a thing. If she didn't go, Whiterun was surely doomed. The guard may have fought one before, but if this dragon was attacking the city proper…

Innocent people were going to die. Cry needed to go and help. She knew how to fight a dragon better than anyone else in Whiterun, and if she did not go out, she would never forgive herself. Damn whatever happened once her true identity was revealed.

She stood up and retrieved her greatsword, before turning to Aela. "Let's move," she said, and then she pushed her way out into the hall ahead of the huntress.

Going up into the mead hall, she found that all of the Companions were already gathered there, waiting for her. Cry exhaled a breath and walked towards where they were, climbing up onto the second level of the mead hall so that she could address them.

"Companions," she began. "I know that we do not concern ourselves with the politics of Whiterun, or of Skyrim herself, but a dragon is attacking the city. If we do not go out there and help defend her, innocent people will die, and I do not want to have their blood on my hands." She licked her lips. "We are all brave and capable warriors, and we are going to go out and help defend our city against the beast. Who's with me?"

Thankfully, the Companions all gave a war cry of agreement, and Cry let out a relieved breath. "On me!" she said, holding up her greatsword, and then she turned and headed outside, her warriors following after her.

As soon as they exited Jorrvaskr, it became clear that a dragon was attacking. Fire burned in multiple locations, and guards raced around, either ushering stray citizens into cover or shooting arrows into the sky. Cry followed them, and saw the dragon circling above Dragonsreach, blowing fire at the highest towers, where no doubt there were more guards shooting at it.

"Companions!" Cry shouted, and then she pointed her sword. "Kill the dragon!"

She heard the pounding of boots as they raced ahead of her towards Dragonsreach. Cry steadied herself, knowing that there was really only one way that she would be able to take the beast down.

With resolve, she headed towards Dragonsreach herself, tightening her grip on her greatsword.

Once inside, she was faced with a panicked scene all of its own. There were injured people all over the great hall, laying on blankets and nursing burns and other wounds. Cry looked around at all of them for a moment before she shook her head and moved through the great hall towards the stairs behind the throne.

At the top, she found Jarl Balgruuf standing at the table that was covered in a map of Skyrim, speaking with his brother. He glanced up, and blinked when he spotted her.

"Dragonborn!" he said, and he moved around the table to get to her. "You've come to help, I hope?"

"Yes," Cry said. "I've… I've been attempting to hide who I am from the Companions, but Whiterun and her people are more important than keeping the secret of my identity from my warriors." She set her shoulders. "I am going to kill the dragon, and make sure it can never come back to attack Whiterun, or anywhere else, ever again."

"Good," Balgruuf said. "See to it. Too many people have already been hurt." He turned and went back to the table.

Cry rotated around herself, and headed through the door that would take her onto the grand balcony of Dragonsreach. Pushing her way outside, she was immediately faced with the sharp smell of smoke and the heat of burning fire.

Coughing, she moved towards the edge of the balcony, and peered through the rising smoke, trying to catch sight of the dragon. She could hear it, its wings flapping and the sound of its fire, but she could not see it, in all the smoke, and all the chaos.

Cry inhaled slowly, and closed her eyes. She felt the burn of the Word that she was looking to use, and she focused on it. Bringing it to the forefront of her chest, she let the power of her Thu'um take over, and she let it ring. _"Tiid… klo!"_

Immediately, everything slowed. The smoke slowed, the fire slowed, the sounds of shouts and screams slowed, and the beating of wings slowed. Cry opened her eyes, and focused. With the lack of chaos, she was easily able to make out the shape of the dragon through the smoke.

Exhaling again, she focused on a different heat in her chest, a Word that would cause destruction this time, and kept her focus on the dragon as the world started to return to its normal speed.

"Come on," she said under her breath, hoping that the dragon would still be in range by the time she could actually harness this second Shout. "Come on!"

Normal speed returned, and so did her Thu'um's power. _"Fo… krah diin!"_

A burst of ice chased after the dragon, and Cry grinned when she heard its roar of surprise. She could take this thing down. It would be repetitive, and it would take a while, but she could do it.

As she was readying to shout in order to slow time again, she heard the sound of the door to the balcony opening. She turned around, and blinked when she saw Vilkas hurrying through the smoke towards her, holding a bow.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, slowing as he neared where she stood. "Why aren't you down there fighting?" Cry's Shout, ready to go, died in her chest as she stammered for a response. Vilkas gazed at her, clearly confused. "Cry? What's wrong?"

"I… I am fighting," she said, quietly, and then she turned back around.

"No, you're not," Vilkas retorted, joining her at the edge of the balcony. He coughed, and wiped at his eyes. "You can barely see anything from up here, and you don't have a bow!"

"I don't need a bow," Cry replied, her eyes narrowing as she peered through the smoke, searching for the dragon. She could tell that it was growing weaker, probably due to whatever the fighters down below were doing to it. It wouldn't last much longer. Still, without it nearby, she wouldn't be able to hit it again, and she needed to, lest it take more time to kill.

"I need to find out its name," she said, mostly to herself, but Vilkas looked at her.

"What's name? The dragon's? How will that help?" he asked, but Cry ignored him. Taking care of the dragon was more important than answering questions that could be answered later.

She realized that the only way she would be able to find out the dragon's name was to introduce herself. Esbern had told her that it was common for two dragons to shout their names at one another prior to a battle, when they had been making their way back to Whiterun from Riften.

_How? I don't know how to translate my name into Dovah._

But she did. Something deep inside of her knew the dragon language, and she knew that she could put her own name into the dragon tongue if she tried. Ignoring the look that Vilkas was giving her, she closed her eyes, and went in search of whatever inborn part of her knew the dragon language.

She poked through everything that she could reach, as though she were searching through a cabinet for a small bottle at the very back of it. She knew that Dovahzul was a large part of her, but one that was not often drawn on for something so serious. If she wanted it to help her, she needed to focus all of her attention on it, and ignore everything else that was happening inside of, and around her.

She'd already blocked off her sight by closing her eyes. By letting out a slow breath, she dropped the rest of her senses, from top to bottom; she could no longer hear the fire burning and the shouts and screams, it was all now a dull roar; the smell of smoke and fire and blood no longer reached her nose; there was no longer the taste of fear in her mouth, or the sharp tang of smoke on her tongue; she didn't feel the heat of flames on her skin, or the hand that Vilkas was using to shake her shoulder. She was focused entirely on the part of her that related to the dragons, and that spoke the same language they did.

And, just like with all her Shouts, the translation of her name suddenly burned deep within her chest, and her eyes flew open. _"Si… lon bal!"_

A burst of blue energy flew from her mouth and into the smokey air. Almost at once, the sounds of the battle went silent. There were no sounds of dragon roar, or battle cries, or screams of the Whiterun citizens. Instead, there was just the dull flapping of dragon wings as it appeared through the smoke in front of her, a big beast with blue scales.

It gazed at her with bright amber eyes, and Cry gazed back, inhaling and exhaling. The two gazed at one another, dragon and dragon, and then the beast itself spoke: _"Agyolos, Dovahkiin Silonbal."_

_Agyolos._ That was its name, and it was listening to her. Cry could hardly believe it.

_"Lif, Agyolos,"_ she said, slowly. _"Hi drun vopraagek aax."_

_Leave. You bring unnecessary harm._

The dragon stared at her for a moment before replying: _"Ni vopraagek. Daar jul krii un eylok."_

_Not unnecessary. These humans kill our kind._

Cry blinked at it. She knew that it had a point, but she also knew that this kind of hatred and destruction was brought on by Alduin's influence. This dragon would not have attacked Whiterun had it not been told by Alduin to do so.

_"Druv dreh hi gir wah Alduin?"_ she asked it. _"Rok gevild nid suleyk avok hi."_

_Why do you listen to Alduin? He holds no power over you._

_"Alduin los jun. Rok drun zek dovah."_

_Alduin is king. He brings back the dragons._

_"Ful hi dren ol ok nukaas?"_ Cry demanded.

_So you act as his puppet?_

The dragon snorted. _"Hi los nukaas! Krif wah hin meyar eylok fah daar joor."_

_You are the puppet! Fighting against your own kind for these mortals._

_"Zu'u fund ni lost wah waan hi drey ni ahraan niin,"_ Cry said, quietly.

_I would not have to if you did not wound them._

The dragon's head thrashed. _"Nust drun do niist meyar gral!"_ Its eyes narrowed. _"Ol dreh hi, Dovahkiin."_

_They bring about their own destruction! As do you, Dragonborn._

Cry blanched, and she immediately turned and shoved Vilkas to the ground as the dragon blew fire at them both. Vilkas hissed as he hit the ground beneath her, but Cry ignored him in favor of looking towards the dragon again. It had remained where it was, but it did not try to strike again. Cry gazed at it for a moment, and it gazed at her, before it turned its head and flew away through the smoke. She waited until the sound of its wings had faded before moving off of Vilkas.

He struggled to a sitting position. After he'd taken a moment to steady his breathing, he looked sideways at her. Cry met his gaze, deciding that there was no reason to act ashamed.

"What was that?" he asked at last.

"Me, speaking Dovahzul to a dragon," Cry replied.

"And… how is it that you know how to speak the dragon language?" Vilkas questioned, slowly.

Cry licked her lips, and cleared her throat, which suddenly felt rather dry. "I'm the Dragonborn," she told him. "I've… I've known since I returned to Skyrim."

Vilkas stared at her for a moment without speaking. "Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asked, and Cry shook her head.

"It's a long story -"

"There you two are!" They both turned at the sound of Farkas's voice, and saw that he was jogging towards them, his armor clanking. There was a scorch mark across it, but other than that, he looked relatively unharmed. "I've been searching for you. The dragon's gone!"

"We know," Cry said, climbing to her feet. She offered Vilkas her hand, and he accepted it, allowing her to help him up as well. "I spoke to it, and it flew away."

Farkas blinked at her, and then at Vilkas. He then leaned towards her, and whispered, "You do know that Vilkas is standing right there?"

Cry smiled slightly, and nodded. "He knows," she said to Farkas, who blinked again, but leaned back.

"All right, I guess."

Cry glanced at Vilkas, who was still studying her. "I would have told you, long ago," she assured him, and then she turned and walked away from the two of them, her eyes closed, a tear falling down her cheek.

* * *

Later on, someone knocked on her bedchamber door. She glanced up from where she was pushing a spare set of breeches into a bag. "Come in," she said, not bothering to hide the pack.

The door opened, and Vilkas entered the room, looking uncertain. He frowned when he saw the pack, and the pile of things that were waiting to be put into it.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked her, and Cry nodded, focusing her attention on packing again.

"I think I need to get away for awhile, think about a few things." She looked up at him. "I haven't really decided where I'll go."

Vilkas crossed his arms. "Do you want to explain what you were doing with the Companions all this time?" he asked, and Cry exhaled a breath, putting a tunic into the pack.

"I infiltrated the Thalmor Embassy, to try and find out what they knew about the dragons returning," she said. "As such, I sort of pissed them off, and my companions thought it would be a good idea for me to hide out somewhere, until we knew the Thalmor had stopped searching for me."

"And so you decided the Companions were a good choice?"

Cry nodded. "And it worked. I haven't been found yet, at any rate, and I've still been able to do some research of my own."

"Meaning?"

She looked at him, smiling again. "You know all those times I was gone for longer than I should have been while off on a job?" Vilkas nodded. "I was searching for Words of Power."

"For your Thu'um," Vilkas clarified, and Cry nodded again. "Will these things help you in the fight against the dragons?"

"I hope so," she said, and he sighed.

"Then I apologize for getting angry with you."

Cry shrugged. "It's all in the past." She finished with the last of her things, and closed the pack, before sliding it on over her shoulders. She then reached for her greatsword, which also lay on her bed, and she slid that on as well, before looking at him again. "I wish I could have told you before, but -"

"I understand," Vilkas said, and she dipped her head, grateful.

"I will return," she assured him. "I'm just uncertain as to when."

"We will look for you," Vilkas promised, and Cry started to leave the room. Before she could, Vilkas grabbed her arm, and she glanced down at his hand before looking up at him.

Vilkas seemed to be unsure of why he had stopped her. There was a look of uncertainty in his eyes. After a moment, Cry decided to make a move of her own. She pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, and then pulled her arm from his grasp and moved past him.

She headed up the stairs to the mead hall, hoping that she did not run into anyone else. She did not want to have to explain her reasoning for leaving, mostly because she did not necessarily have one. She knew that there were several things that were plaguing her: her secret was revealed, the dragons were growing restless, she was falling in love with Vilkas more and more everyday… none of these things were good, and she figured by stepping away from the Companions for a time, she'd be able to solve at least one of those issues.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the universe was not willing to let her walk away from the Companions without a struggle beforehand.

"Where are you going?"

She sighed to herself, and turned to see Farkas standing behind her, his arms crossed and a frown on his face. "I'm leaving," she said. "I need… I need to step back for a while."

"You can't _'step back,'"_ Farkas said sternly. "You're the harbinger!"

"I know," Cry said. "I'm not going forever, Farkas, but… this dragon attack has reminded me of what I'm supposed to be doing. I let myself get comfortable here with the Companions, when there's a gigantic problem waiting for me to solve out there." She gestured towards the door. "I need to go take care of it, and then I will return, I promise."

Farkas gazed at her for a moment without speaking. When he did, he sounded angry. "This better not have anything to do with my brother."

Cry blinked at him. "Why would you think that?"

"Cry, everyone knows that the two of you are besotted with one another!" Farkas exclaimed, clearly frustrated. "You don't have to run away from him. We can help you with this dragon thing, whatever it is."

Cry swallowed, and then she lowered her gaze. "It is not something that you should have to help me with, Farkas," she said after a moment. She met his gaze again. "And I don't really think what I have to do allows me to… be _besotted_ with your brother."

"He's the only reason you stayed this long, isn't he?" Farkas asked, and Cry paused as she turned to walk away from him. "It's because of him that you didn't hesitate in becoming the harbinger."

"Farkas, I became the harbinger because it was what Kodlak wanted," she said. "I couldn't exactly say no, could I?"

"You would've," he said, "but you were already in love with Vilkas, weren't you? You decided to stay because of that!"

"Farkas."

"Don't deny it," Farkas said. "You're in love with my brother, and he's in love with you, and yet you're going to go and get yourself killed, and break his heart!" He shook his head at her. "Why would you bother staying, if you were just going to do that anyway?"

Cry gazed at him for a moment, and then she shook her head turning to walk away again. "Goodbye, Farkas," she said. She pulled open the door, and exited Jorrvaskr without waiting to see if he had something more to say. More tears were threatening to fall, but she forced these ones back. There was no point.

"Well," she said to herself, pausing at the gates of Whiterun. "I've always wanted to study to be a bard."


	31. Chapter 29: A Change Of Plans

"Very good work, Silverworthy," Pantea said as Cry picked up her book from the table she'd been sitting at.

Cry glanced up, and met the Master Vocalist's gaze. She smiled. "Thank you, Master Ateia," she replied. "I've been practicing."

"It's noticeable," Pantea said. "You actually show some promise, and I don't say that to everyone."

"No, I know," Cry told her. She glanced down at her book, and Pantea tilted her head.

"Something's on your mind," she said, and Cry looked up again.

"No, not really. Just thinking about my lesson later with Inge."

Pantea didn't look convinced. After staring at her for a moment, she settled down on a bench, and patted the spot beside her.

"Sit," she invited, "and talk to me." Cry hesitated a moment, and then she exhaled a breath and sat. Pantea crossed her legs, and looked at her. "What is it, young one?"

"Plenty of things," Cry sighed, quietly. "You know, just… something I need to be doing and I'm not, and someone I should talk to, but I won't… it's difficult, ma'am."

Pantea nodded wisely. "Life is difficult," she agreed. "Plenty of songs have been written as such. But through these difficulties is where bards learn to perform with passion. They express their feelings through their art, whether it be singing or playing or even speaking written poetry. The best place for you to be while you are dealing with certain difficulties is here, I promise you."

Cry smiled slightly, and dipped her head. "I think you're right," she said, "although, at some point, I'm going to need to face my difficulties."

"Of course," Pantea replied. "We'll all have to face our difficulties at some point. But if you'd like to escape them for a time, the Bards College is a good place to do it." She gave Cry's knee a pat, and stood. "Should I tell Inge you might have to move your lesson to tomorrow?"

"I can still go," Cry said, but after seeing the look on Pantea's face, her shoulders slumped. "Maybe I should wait until tomorrow."

Pantea smiled at her. "I'll let her know," she said, and she turned to go.

"Master," Cry said, and Pantea paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Thank you."

Pantea merely smiled at her. "Think about your difficulties, Cry Silverworthy," she invited. "Someday, they may make great pieces of music."

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving Cry alone with her thoughts.

She gazed down at her book, running her fingers over the top of it. She had been at the Bards College for a couple weeks, after she'd managed to complete the task that the headmaster had sent her on. She thought it was odd, an aspiring bard being sent on a excavation into a Nordic ruin, but it was something she knew best, and so she was glad to do it. And now, she was a member of the college, and taking vocal and lute lessons from the best in Skyrim.

All the same, she didn't know if she could call herself happy. She knew that she was only wasting time at the college. In all respects, she should have gone to Markarth, where Delphine and Esbern were expecting her. She could have gone to High Hrothgar, to learn more about her Thu'um and what it meant. She could have gone somewhere that furthered her destiny of taking care of Skyrim's dragon problem, and yet she hadn't.

It didn't make it any better that she was missing the Companions desperately. A letter from Farkas had found her in her second week in Solitude, but she had yet to respond to it, not knowing what there was to say. _Hello, Farkas, I'm miserable, I'm still holding off on my destiny, and I am, in fact, desperately in love with your twin brother, and it's only getting worse with each passing day, when I'd thought it would have gone away by now._

Cry was not happy, not in the slightest. She missed her Companions, she missed Farkas and Aela, and she really, _really_ missed Vilkas.

And she wasn't even _close_ to being able to return to them.

Cry groaned, quietly, and rested her head in her lap. She really needed to get her priorities straight. How was it that she could condone wasting almost a month in Solitude learning how to craft a song and play it on a lute while singing it, too, but she couldn't have risked staying at Jorrvaskr for any longer? She knew what it was she had to do, and she knew that if she managed to accomplish it without dying, she could go home to them.

So why was it that she wasn't doing what she needed to do? Was it because she was afraid of dying, which she knew was a very high possibility? Or was it simply because she was afraid of what had already happened, of being in love, and being able to _do_ something about it? If that was the case, she had bigger troubles than some world eating dragon.

"Cry?"

Her head shot up as someone said her name, and she found Jorn standing in the doorway of the room. He looked confused.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked her, and Cry shook her head quickly, standing up.

"Nothing. I was just thinking," she said.

"Oh," Jorn replied, and Cry started to move past him out of the room. "You have a visitor."

Cry stopped dead. She turned around to face him, clutching her book to her chest. "I do?" she asked, voice soft, and Jorn nodded.

"Sent 'em up to your room, and told 'em I'd come find you," he said, and then he walked away from her.

Cry remained where she was for a moment, feeling only the tiniest bit of panic. There were a number of people who the guest could be, and there were a number of people that she wouldn't mind it being. There was really only one person she _didn't_ want it to be, and she had a feeling that the universe wouldn't be so unkind to her.

She swallowed, screwed up her courage, and headed upstairs to her room.

When she'd reached the closed door, she took a moment to steady her breathing. There was no way of knowing who it was by standing outside. She could not prepare what to say before going _inside._ What exactly was she supposed to do, then? Hope for the best, and expect the worst?

She supposed so.

Exhaling, she reached out with one hand, and pushed the door open. As she did so, the person standing inside her room shifted, but did not turn around to look at her. Even when the door hit the wall, they continued to gaze out the small window against the back wall.

"You have an all right view," Vilkas finally said.

"I think so," Cry replied, setting her book down on the table near the door before closing it. When she turned around again, she saw Vilkas had done the same, and that he now faced her. He offered her a small smile.

"Surprised it's me?" he asked, and Cry let out a laugh.

"I actually wish I could say I was," she said, and then she shook her head. "How'd you figure out where I was?"

"Farkas paid the courier extra," Vilkas said, and Cry's shoulders fell.

"Right."

"I thought you were leaving us to do something about the dragon problem," Vilkas commented, moving away from the window.

Cry waved her hand. "I sort of am. The Bards College has an excellent archive. I've been doing some research on history involving dragons," she explained.

"I see." Vilkas paused a few steps away from her. "I could have helped you with that, you know. History's one of the few things I know quite a bit about."

"Yes, well…" Cry breathed out shakily, cursing the breath for betraying her. "It's like I said: I had to get away."

"Why is that?" Vilkas asked, and she blinked at him.

"Hm?"

"I mean… we weren't… causing you any problems, were we?" he queried.

Cry quickly shook her head. "No, of course not!" she said. "It was more of a personal decision. I was being… I was using the Companions as a sort of distraction, a reason not to go and deal with the dragons. It was time I stopped doing that, and actually… dealt with my destiny."

"Your destiny." Vilkas repeated what she had said, softly, mostly to himself. Cry watched his face, but there was no visible change of expression as he seemed to think to himself for a moment. Eventually, however, he glanced up again, and met her eyes. "Farkas said that you left because of me."

"Of course he did," Cry said, mostly to _herself,_ this time, and then she exhaled. "Vilkas, I should confess that I did leave _partially_ because of you, but not because of anything you did, I promise."

"No, I know," Vilkas replied. "Farkas said it's because you're in love with me, despite you telling me, vehemently, I might add, that you _couldn't_ be." Cry gnawed on the inside of her lip, and Vilkas glanced downwards. "I see."

"Is that a good thing?" she asked, and he let out a quiet chuckle, before shrugging.

"Do you want it to be?"

"Vilkas…"

"Because… it seems to me that you leaving because you love me means that you don't _want_ to love me," he said, "in which case I'll need to apologize, because I am madly in love with you. I don't think there's anything I can do about it either, which, I think, is something I've already made rather clear."

Cry blinked at him. "Vilkas," she said again, and he stepped closer to her, close enough that he could cup her cheek in his hand.

"I love you, Cry," he said, softly, "Dragonborn or not, and the last thing I plan on doing is allowing you to continue in your journey alone."

Cry quickly leaned up and kissed him with fire, wrapping her arms around his neck. She let out a small noise when Vilkas's hands moved down her back. He turned and pressed her against the wall, holding her there with his body and hands, as he hungrily kissed her back.

They separated for a brief moment to collect their breath, and they met gazes. Vilkas's eyes were glittering, and Cry could only imagine what it was she herself looked like after that. After a moment, they both let out soft laughs, and then Cry hugged him, tightly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" Vilkas responded, passing his fingers through her hair, which was hanging loose, for once.

"Everything, I guess," Cry said, pulling out of the hug. She met his eyes. "I mean… I sort of used the Companions as a reason to not… do what I'm supposed to be doing. And it's because of you that I even considered it as an option." She shook her head. "I'm really sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Vilkas murmured, placing a hand on her cheek again. "You got caught up in it."

"No, I… I actively ignored letters that I received from the people that are helping me with the dragon problem, because I decided that it was easier to run the Companions," Cry said, softly. "I've been putting it off for weeks, and even when I left, I continued to put it off, which means I really left for no reason."

"So come back," Vilkas insisted. He backed away, but held her hands in his, squeezing them. "I can help you with the dragons. I'll go with you wherever it is you need to go to deal with them. I'll… I want to be with you, Cry. Please, don't tell me that I can't be, because I don't want to argue with you."

Cry stared at him for a moment, and then she sighed and glanced downwards. "Vilkas -"

"I asked you _not_ to do this," Vilkas interrupted, and Cry let out a laugh.

"I'm sorry," she said, meeting his eyes again, "but it's too dangerous."

"All the more reason to let me come with you," Vilkas insisted. He pulled her closer, and tilted her face upwards with his thumb under her chin. "I believe you to be the love of my life," he went on, quietly. "If you think I'm going to let you go easily, you're very wrong."

"No, I wasn't thinking that," Cry told him, "and… I love you, too, but this… I can't drag you into this, Vilkas. The dragons are _my_ problem. I don't want to risk you."

Vilkas smiled at her. "Then why would you think I'd let you go into a risky scenario on your own?" he asked. Cry gazed helplessly up at him, and Vilkas kissed her again, softly this time. When he pulled back, he stroked her cheek with his thumb, looking at her. "I'm going with you, whether you agree with it or not. I won't let you get away from me, not again."

"Well… you didn't really let me get away from you," Cry said after a moment, and Vilkas tilted his head, frowning. "You're here, aren't you?"

Vilkas chuckled. "I am. But I let you leave, which is a negative. I shouldn't have done that." He glanced around her room. "Although, I don't mind that you came here. Learning to be a bard is admirable."

"I think I'm doing rather well, too," Cry replied. She moved away from him, and went to pick up her lute. She retrieved it from where it was resting on the table. She turned around to face Vilkas again. "Would you like to hear something?"

"I would," Vilkas said, settling down on the edge of her bed.

Cry thought about it for a moment, and then she smiled to herself, and began to play. No words, no singing, just the sound of the lute, which was amplified in the small space of her room. Vilkas watched her the entire time, a strange look on his face.

Cry let the music flow through her, into her fingers, and onto her lute's strings. It was a sweet song, but also a sad song, one that she had come to know through reading, and also experience. She had a feeling that Vilkas knew what it meant, even without there being any words, just by the look in his eyes.

When the final note had been played, and Cry had lowered her lute, he spoke: "That was about Kodlak, wasn't it? Or… just all the brave warriors that had died that you know."

"And the ones that I don't," Cry agreed, putting her lute down on the table again. She walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. "It's really about anyone who's been lost." She glanced at him. "You've experienced that."

Vilkas nodded. "First with my father, and then with many other Companions, including Skjor and Kodlak." He glanced sideways at her. "It couldn't have just been their deaths that inspired that."

Cry offered him a sad smile. "No," she said, softly, "they didn't. It was… well, it came together from quite a lot of experiences, but I can't take credit for having written it." She let out a chuckle. "I think a sad bard crafted it after the death of his lover."

"Ah," Vilkas said.

"His same-sex lover."

_"Ah."_ Vilkas reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "It was beautiful." He glanced sideways at her. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping that you would sing for me."

Cry exhaled a breath. "Plenty of time for that," she said, and then she stood, and went to the window. "I need to go to Markarth," she began after a moment, and she glanced back at him to gather his reaction.

Vilkas merely stood. "All right," he said. "How soon can we leave?"

"Really? Just like that?" Cry asked him, and Vilkas shrugged his shoulders.

"I said I was going to go with you."

"You did," Cry admitted, and then she exhaled, slowly. "I'll just let everyone know that I'm going, and we can head out tomorrow morning."

Vilkas nodded in agreement. "I'll meet you at the inn at dawn." He started to walk past her, towards the door, but she stopped him by grabbing his arm. Vilkas glanced at her, blinking, and Cry hesitated a moment.

"Stay," she finally said, and Vilkas's expression changed.

"I already paid for a room," he said, softly.

"Then I'll come with you."

He let out a laugh, and Cry grinned as well, before putting her hand on the back of his neck and kissing him deeply. She would definitely be lying if she said she wasn't glad that he had come after her.

* * *

"Y'know," she said later on, as they were preparing for bed, "I'm the Dragonborn."

"I think we've established that," Vilkas said, laughter in his voice.

"There's some things that come with traveling with the Dragonborn," Cry continued, and Vilkas raised his eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Yep," Cry said. "So, I took the liberty of getting you a few things."

"Oh, you got me presents?" Vilkas asked, and Cry tilted her head back and forth.

"You could call them presents, sure," she said, and then she produced a package wrapped in brown parchment. "Here."

Vilkas took it from her, and set it down on the bed in the room he'd rented at the Winking Skeever. He unwrapped it, and Cry saw his shoulders fall as he saw what was inside it. After a moment, he turned around to face her, holding up what she had gotten him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Something for you to wear when we're waiting around in a city," she said, and she gestured to his armor. "You can't possibly be comfortable, walking around in that all the time."

"It's what I always wear," Vilkas said, and he gave the tunic and breeches she had bought him a look. "These are very nice, but I don't see myself wearing them."

Cry shrugged. "You might. They're just another option, that's all."

Vilkas sighed to himself. "It's just a hassle, having to change out of my armor," he explained.

"Yes, well, maybe you'll feel the need sometime," Cry said, and Vilkas offered her a placating smile.

"Sure," he said.

Cry crossed the room as he turned around to slip the clothing into his bag. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and Vilkas chuckled, turning around to face her. His own arms went around her, and he tilted her face upwards by pressing his forehead against hers.

"Hi," she greeted, quietly, and he grinned.

"Hi."

"Thank you," she said, "for coming to find me."

Vilkas pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I already told you, you are the one I was _meant_ to find," he said.

"And you still think that?"

"Of course." He grinned at her. "And I think you were supposed to find me."

She wrapped her arms around his neck instead, gazing up at him. "I think so, too," she admitted, and then she leaned up on her toes to kiss him.

And that feeling of being capable of doing anything was revitalized inside of her, because she knew she was telling the truth. Whatever else her destiny entailed, Vilkas was _definitely_ part of it.

* * *

**And that's Part 2. Part 3'll start being posted within the next few days, after I've edited her. See you then. **


	32. Chapter 30: Sky Haven Temple

Although Cry had told Vilkas that she needed to go to Markarth, she partially expected he'd insist they head to Whiterun, first, to figure out what to do with the Companions while they were both gone. She was surprised, then, when he did not suggest that whatsoever. Instead, he simply followed her out of Solitude, and onto the road that would take them in the direction of Karthspire, which was close to where Sky Haven Temple was, according to Delphine's letters.

They traveled swiftly, neither of them needing to rest because of the beast blood that they both still carried. Cry knew that she needed to bring it up with him, ask if he wanted to use one of the witch heads to cleanse himself, but there was time for that, she supposed. He wanted to help her, currently, and she supposed it was about time she got back on track about the dragon situation.

Unfortunately, the journey was pushed off course by the arrival of a dragon, who swooped down on them shortly after they had passed through Rorikstead on their way south. It announced itself through a blast of frost, and Cry, who'd sensed the dragon, pushed Vilkas out of the way of the ice, pulling out her greatsword at the same time. She spun around to face the dragon, who was flying overhead. It came to a halt, and hovered over her, gazing down at her.

_"Nahagliiv, Dovahkiin,"_ it growled.

_"Dovahkiin Silonbal,"_ Cry replied, and the dragon twisted its head and flew off. It rounded, and flew towards her again, Shouting more frost in her direction. Cry attempted to swing her sword at it, but missed, of course.

"Arrows, love," Vilkas advised, holding a bow already.

"Good idea," Cry agreed. "You shoot it down, and then I'll attack it with my sword."

Vilkas sighed, but did not argue with her. He pulled an arrow back in the bow string, and shot it at the dragon as it circled back yet again. The arrow landed beneath its wing, and Nahagliiv jerked.

"Good shot!" Cry said, grinning at Vilkas, who was preparing another arrow.

He fired this one as well, and it was enough to convince the dragon to land. It did so, lumbering around so that it could Shout more frost at them. Cry ran towards it, holding up her sword, and she slashed at Nahagliiv's wings with it as soon as she was close enough. She did not want the dragon to take to the air again.

The dragon roared, and she slashed at it once more, leaving another cut in the tough leather of its wing.

Vilkas had joined her, holding his own greatsword. He went to work on the dragon's other wing, clearly understanding her intention. Cry could see Nahagliiv was struggling, and she was tempted to feel bad; it really wasn't fair, how badly they were beating it.

Still, just as before, she could not let it live. It might decide to attack Rorikstead, and she could not have that. She clambered up onto the dragon's back, like she had with Sahlokniir, and raised her sword. "Vilkas, look!" she called, and he glanced up from where he was stabbing at the tough, leathery wing. His eyes went wide.

"What are you doing? Are you insane?" he exclaimed.

"No! This is the most efficient way of dealing with dragons!" Cry shouted back, and then she stabbed her sword down. Nahagliiv went limp beneath where she stood on its back. She slid down off of it, taking her sword with her, and joined Vilkas on solid ground. She spoke to him as the dragon soul rushed into her: "See? Easy. It only works if there's someone to help distract it, though," she said.

Vilkas was gaping, and she frowned at him as the warmth from the soul and the knowledge it carried faded. "What?" she asked.

"You were _glowing!"_ he said, and she glanced over her shoulder at the bones of the dragon, and then back at him.

"Is that what happens? I never asked anyone." She shrugged. "Good to know, I guess. Let's keep going."

They did so, but only after Cry had grabbed Vilkas to encourage him to get moving.

The rest of the trip into the Reach was uneventful, aside from the usual array of wolves, which were easy to deal with after the dragon.

Karthspire, however, was a completely different situation. As soon as they were within sight of it, a ball of fire flew towards them. Cry almost didn't get out of the way of it, but Vilkas pulled her behind a rock just before it could strike her.

"What was _that?"_ she asked, blinking in shock.

"Forsworn, I think," he said, peering around the rock. He had placed her between it and himself, and Cry felt her cheeks grow hot when she noticed this. "I don't know how many; I think I can see a settlement."

He looked at her, then, and she grinned sheepishly at him. "What should we do?" she asked, and he cleared his throat, backing up a few steps.

"I don't know," he said. "There might be too many for just two of us to handle, especially if they all attack at the same time."

"How about four of us?"

Cry glanced past Vilkas, and smiled. "Delphine, Esbern!" she said, moving around Vilkas and towards the two of them. "What are you doing out here?"

"The same thing you two are, most like," Delphine said. "We couldn't get past the Forsworn, either." She looked pointedly at Vilkas. "Wasn't it a woman, the last time we saw you?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry!" Cry said, and she gestured to Vilkas. "Delphine, Esbern, this is Vilkas. He's my… my… uh…" She exhaled. "He's my Master at Arms."

Vilkas smiled, and held out his hand to shake. "Nice to meet you," he said.

Delphine looked apprehensive, while Esbern merely smirked at Cry as he shook Vilkas's hand for the both of them. Cry scowled at him in response. Delphine looked towards the Forsworn settlement.

"Well, perhaps with four of us, we stand a chance," she said at last. "We just need to get past them enough to reach Karthspire, which is up there." She pointed towards an overhang, which was directly next to the settlement.

"Oh, sure," Cry said. "That should be easy enough." Delphine looked at her, and Cry smiled. "Didn't you miss me?"

"More than you know, Dragonborn," Esbern said before Delphine could respond.

She nodded, and pulled out her sword. Twirling it, she gestured with her head. "Let's go deal with these Forsworn, eh?"

Twenty short minutes later, all of the Forsworn were dead, and the four of them had reconvened outside of Karthspire. Cry grinned widely, and she nudged Vilkas with her shoulder.

"That went well, right?"

"As well as it could've," Delphine said before Vilkas could respond. "Let's head in; we've already wasted plenty of time."

She ducked into the cave first. Cry exchanged a look with Esbern, who smiled and headed into the cave after Delphine. After nudging Vilkas again, Cry did the same, and he followed behind her.

They passed through a cavern that looked like it had been populated at one point, but was now empty. Crossing a rope bridge, they came to a stop in a spot where they could go no further, faced with three pillars, all featuring different symbols. Looking around, it seemed the way forward was blocked by a stone bridge.

"We need to get that bridge down," Delphine said, frowning at it.

Esbern examined the pillars. "These are Akaviri symbols," he said, gesturing to them. "You have the symbol for king, and for warrior, and, of course, the symbol for Dragonborn." He nodded to the pillar on the right. "That's the one with a sort of arrow shape pointing downward at the bottom."

Cry tilted her head. She looked at the pillars, and then at the bridge, and then at the pillars again. She stepped forward, and turned the middle pillar until the Dragonborn symbol faced out.

"Yes, that's it," Esbern said.

Cry turned the last pillar as well. As soon as the Dragonborn symbol faced out, the bridge lowered.

"Whatever you did, it worked," Delphine said, stepping onto the bridge. "Let's keep moving."

"How'd you figure that out?" Vilkas asked as they followed Esbern across the bridge.

Cry shrugged. "Dunno. It makes sense, though. Maybe this place knows I'm Dragonborn, and turning the pillars was like… proof?"

Vilkas did not look convinced. "That would take some serious magic," he said, and Cry smiled.

"A lot of things in Skyrim do," she said.

They met up with the two Blades in a different room, in which the entire floor was covered in pressure plates. Cry blinked upon seeing them, and looked at Esbern.

"Why are all you Blades so paranoid?"

"Funny," Delphine said. She pointed to the plates. "Look, it's the same symbol as before." She looked at Cry. "I bet you could make it across the room, if you stuck to those plates."

"Hah, now _you're_ the one making jokes," Cry said, and Delphine sighed.

"Afraid not."

Cry groaned, and looked at Vilkas, who appeared just as wary as she felt. "Don't follow me," she said to him.

"You're actually going to do it?" he asked, his eyes going wide. "You must be kidding."

"I have to," Cry said. "No one else will be able to make it across unless I try." She paused. "It'll be fine. Probably."

Before she could second guess it, she placed one foot on the first plate with the Dragonborn symbol carved into it. When she wasn't immediately blasted with flames, she let out a relieved breath, and moved onto the next panel.

Slowly, to make sure she didn't misstep, she moved across the floor, only stepping on the tiles with the Dragonborn symbol. She reached the other side, and yanked on the chain there. Immediately, the panels sank into the floor.

"Good job, Dragonborn," Esbern said, and he and Delphine made their way across the room as well, Vilkas behind them. He took Cry's hand, once he'd reached her.

"You're incredibly lucky you didn't get incinerated," he said to her, and Cry grinned.

"Can't yet. Gotta kill a dragon, first."

She pushed on, leading Vilkas by the hand. Eventually the four of them reached a side cavern lit mostly by natural lighting. In the center of the room was a chest, and against one wall, a very large, very scary looking statue of a face.

Esbern did not seem to be frightened by it. "Wonderful! Remarkably well preserved, too." He paused, and gestured to the floor. "Ah... here's the "blood seal." Another of the lost Akaviri arts. No doubt triggered by... well, blood." He glanced at Cry. "Your blood, Dragonborn."

"Nice," she said under her breath, and joined him next to the circle on the floor. After examining it for a moment, she stepped towards the center of it, and crouched down. Esbern handed her a dagger, and she swallowed before slicing open her palm, and allowing some of her blood to drip onto the center plate.

Immediately, the rest of the blood deal glowed with white light, and the head statue started to lift, to reveal a staircase that was behind it. Cry straightened up, and reached into her pack to search for a health potion to heal her cut.

Vilkas had approached, however, a potion in hand. She smiled at him, and took the bottle from him, swallowing part of the potion down. Her cut healed, and she handed the bottle back.

"Thank you."

"Of course."

Delphine had approached the opening. "Dragonborn," she said, and Cry glanced at her. "You should be the first one to enter."

Cry inhaled, slowly, and examined the steps leading upwards. This was it, she knew. On the inside of this temple lay the answer to stopping the dragons, stopping Alduin. And once she knew what that answer was, there would be no reason for her not to chase after it.

"Let's go," she said, and walked towards the stairs.

The temple on the other side of the door at the top of them was dark. A spiral set of stairs led upwards, blocked in by narrow walls. Cry examined the carvings on the wall as Delphine moved up the steps ahead of her, lighting sconces along the way with a torch.

"Fascinating!" Esbern exclaimed, leaning close to get a better look at the wall. "Original Akaviri bas reliefs... almost entirely intact! Amazing... you can see how the Akaviri craftsmen were beginning to embrace the more flowing Nordic style…"

Cry looked over at Delphine, who had an amused expression on her face. "We're here for Alduin's Wall, right, Esbern?" she prompted, and Esbern straightened up again.

"Yes, of course," he said, moving up the stairs towards her. "We'll have more time later to look around, I suppose."

They continued on up the stairs, and Cry smiled at Vilkas, who raised his eyebrow in response. "Interesting friends you found in these two," he said to her. "Who are they, exactly?"

"The last members of the Blades, who were, I guess, a group of warriors that helped protect the Dragonborn, a long time ago." Cry shrugged. "I don't know. They want to stop the dragons, so I'm working with them."

"Fair enough," Vilkas said, and he gestured up the stairs.

Cry walked up the rest of them to the top. They led up into a large hall, that stretched upwards and outwards. Cry thought it was similar to the size of a throne hall in a keep, perhaps even bigger. And, remarkably, it had all been created using the natural shape of the stone walls around them.

"This place is… huge," she finally said, after struggling to find a proper word to use.

"Yes," Vilkas said, looking around. "Hard to believe that it's been empty for so long, until you think about all those traps that kept people out." He looked at her. "This place was meant to house the Dragonborn and their followers."

Cry turned to find the Blades, and saw them both standing in front of a large, intricately carved wall that was made of black stone. She blinked at it, approaching, and Esbern gestured to it.

"Alduin's Wall," he said. "It's hard to believe it is so well preserved." He reached a hand out, touched one of the carvings. "I've never seen a finer example of second era Akaviri sculptural relief."

Delphine let out a patient-sounding noise. "Esbern. We need information, not a lecture on art history."

Cry had to agree. Although she appreciated Esbern's vast knowledge, she did not necessarily want to hear any of it when the answer to how to stop Alduin was located on the wall somewhere. Esbern could interpret it for her, and she needed him to, now.

Esbern sighed. "Yes, yes," he said, and he stepped back, to look at the wall as a whole. "Let's see what we have… ah, look, here is Alduin." He gestured to a large dragon that was carved near the start of the wall. "This panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim. Here, the humans rebel against their dragon overlords - the legendary Dragon War."

Cry tilted her head as she took in the imagery. She could sort of tell what he was talking about, could make out vague figures, but the most prominent figure in all of them was Alduin himself.

"Alduin's defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall," Esbern continued, spreading his hands to indicate the middle-most panel. "You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues - masters of the Voice - are arrayed against him."

"Does it show how they defeated him?" Delphine asked, moving forward. "Isn't that why we're here?"

"Patience, my dear," Esbern said, calmly. "The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is crouched in allegory and mythic symbolism." He paused for a moment, examining the wall with narrowed eyes. "Yes, yes," he said at last. "This here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes." He indicated a carving that might have been a word. "This is the Akaviri symbol for 'Shout'."

Cry blinked, and looked over at Delphine, who frowned. "You mean they used a Shout to defeat Alduin?" she asked. "You're sure."

"Hm?" Esbern had, once again, been lost in the artwork. "Oh, yes. Presumably something rather specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return."

Delphine sighed. "So, we're looking for a Shout, then. Damn it."

Cry had to agree with her sentiment. Who knew how many Shouts there were available to human knowledge, and who knew which one was the correct one? She definitely didn't, and she didn't know if there was anyone who would know. The Greybeards, she supposed, might, but… she doubted it, considering the violence involved during the Dragon War.

"Shit," she sighed, and she looked at Delphine. "I think I might have to talk to the Greybeards about this."

Delphine crossed her arms. "I had hoped we wouldn't need to involve them, but I suppose it may be our only choice. They could be the only people who might have any idea what Shout was used."

"Look, here, in the third panel!" Esbern said, and Cry turned back towards him. "The prophecy which brought the Akaviri to Tamriel in the first place, in search of the Dragonborn." He gestured. "Here are the Akaviri - the Blades - you see their distinctive longswords."

Cry glanced at Delphine, at the sword she carried on her hip. So _that_ was why it was so odd looking; it was a weapon designed specifically for Blades.

"Now, they kneel," Esbern continued, gesturing to a different part of the panel, "their ancient mission fulfilled, as the Last Dragonborn contends with Alduin at the end of time."

Cry stepped towards the Wall, peering at the figure that was meant to indicate herself. The figure was burly, probably fashioned after a male countenance rather than female. No doubt the ancient Akaviri hadn't assumed the Dragonborn to save the world would be female.

Something Esbern had said had caught her interest, however, and she looked at him. "The _Last_ Dragonborn?"

"Oh, yes," Esbern said with a nod. "Since it was foretold that you would be the one to end the dragon menace for good, it makes sense that there would be no Dragonborn to come after you."

"Right," Cry said, quietly, and she stepped away from the Wall again, studying the floor. Someone placed a hand on her arm, and she turned to glance at Vilkas, who's brow was furrowed in concern.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, and she inhaled.

"I'm just… wondering what it means for everyone, if I fail," she explained. "If I'm the _last_ Dragonborn, and I don't manage to kill Alduin… what will happen to Tamriel?"

Vilkas rubbed his hand up and down her arm, comfortingly. "You will not fail," he assured. "I doubt you'd allow yourself to."

Cry managed a smile for him, and nodded in agreement, before glancing around once more. "We need to go to High Hrothgar, now, I suppose," she said. She looked at him. "You up for that?"

"Anything you need," Vilkas replied.

"All right, then," Cry said. He turned towards Delphine. "I'll come back and let you know if I learn anything."

Delphine nodded. "And we'll search around here, see if there's anything that might be helpful in whatever's left." She looked at Esbern. "We may get distracted quite a lot, however."

Cry grinned. She dipped her head to Delphine, and then turned to Vilkas. "Let's go."


	33. Chapter 31: Paarthunax

"Are you sure you don't mind me coming with you?" Vilkas asked, and Cry glanced back at him, an eyebrow cocked.

"You're asking if I _mind?"_ she queried. "Hm. Didn't know that was something you could do." Vilkas offered her an exasperated look in response, and Cry grinned, turning forward again, climbing another few steps. "There's no point in asking now, anyway. We're almost to High Hrothgar."

"I know," Vilkas said. She could hear the smile in his voice. "That's why I waited to ask. I knew you wouldn't send me back down."

Cry rolled her eyes to herself, and kept going.

The gray stone of High Hrothgar came within sight after another fifteen minutes or so, and Cry paused, waiting for Vilkas to step up beside her. They studied the building together for a moment, and then she looked over at him.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"It's beautiful," he replied, earnestly. "Did you know it was constructed in the 1st Era, in the year 416?"

"I didn't," Cry replied, "and I don't think I _needed_ to know that, either."

"Sure you did," Vilkas said. "You're in charge here, aren't you?"

Cry snorted, softly. "I don't think I'd say that." She tilted her head towards the building. "Let's head inside. I'd rather be able to get back down the mountain before the sun starts to go down, if we can."

"Fair enough," Vilkas agreed. "Let's go."

They headed towards High Hrothgar together, Vilkas holding the door for her. Cry stepped through, out of the wind, and exhaled in relief, glancing around the main hall. It appeared to be vacated.

"I bet they're all in the rear courtyard," she said after a moment. "We should go see."

"No need, _Dovahkiin."_ They both turned, and Cry smiled slightly when she saw Arngeir emerge from the shadows of the room. He dipped his head to her. "It is good to have you back."

"Thank you, Master Arngeir," Cry said, and then she gestured to Vilkas. "This is Vilkas. He's the Master of Arms of the Companions, and my current traveling companion."

"Sir," Arngeir said, and Vilkas nodded back. Arngeir turned once more to Cry. "Have you come to ask our assistance, Dragonborn?"

"Yes," Cry said. "And in a fairly serious matter." Arngeir gazed at her, expectantly, it seemed to Cry, and she let her shoulders fall. "I'd like to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin."

Immediately, Arngeir's expression turned stony, which surprised Cry very much. She hadn't known he had any emotion other than even-keeled. "Where did you learn of that?" he asked. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Does it matter?" Cry returned frowning.

"Yes," Arngeir replied. "For matters of such gravity, we need to know where you stand. Or who you stand with."

Cry glanced sideways at Vilkas. He lifted an eyebrow in response, clearly indicating that only she could make this decision. Cry looked down at the floor for a moment, before lifting her gaze back to Arngeir's.

"I have nothing to hide," she said, plainly. "The Blades have been helping me."

Arngeir release a noise akin to a scoff. "The Blades," he said. "Of course. They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds." He looked at her, frowning. "They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?"

"The Blades are _helping me,"_ Cry told him, feeling defensive. "I am not their puppet."

There was a moment of silence, and then Arngeir seemed to deflate. "No, no," he said, quietly. "Of course not. Forgive me, Dragonborn. I have been… intemperate with you." He sighed, and looked at her again. "But heed my warning: the Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have."

Cry looked at Vilkas again, to gauge his reaction to this. He was studying Arngeir, his brow furrowed. Cry had to admit that she agreed with the uncertainty on his face. She'd been working with Delphine and Esbern for quite some time, and they'd given her no reason no to trust them, but she'd relied on the Greybeards for just as long, to give her locations of Words of Power and such.

_Why can't everyone just get along?_

Instead of speaking her frustrations out loud, she instead went back to the business at hand. "Will you teach me the Shout?"

Arngeir shook his head. "I will not, because I cannot," he said. "I do not know it. It is called "Dragonrend," but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice."

Cry shook her head, confused. "I thought you knew all the Words of Power?"

"Not to Dragonrend," Arngeir answered. "Those were lost in the time before history began. Perhaps only its creators ever knew them." He glanced briefly at Vilkas, who was still frowning, before turning to Cry once more. "I am not the one to speak of it to you."

"What's so bad about this Shout?" Vilkas asked, speaking up for the first time.

Arngeir let out a weary sigh. He walked away from them a few steps, looking down at the floor. "It was created by those who'd lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult," he began after a moment.

"Oh," Vilkas said, under his breath.

"What?" Cry asked, looking between the two of them.

"Do you not read?" Vilkas asked her, and Cry shrugged.

"Fiction."

He offered her an affectionate look, and then said, "Alduin's Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim during the Merethic era. The men who were part of it worshipped many different animals as… avatars of the gods. Alduin, and other dragons, were among them."

"Correct," Arngeir said. "In return, the dragons granted the humans that followed them with insurmountable power. So long as they obeyed the dragons, of course. In order to maintain this obedience, the Dragon Priests established very strict laws, and demanded tribute from the ordinary people."

"It was an awful period of time," Vilkas said. "Just reading about it, I can't even begin to imagine what everyone went through under their rule."

"Eventually," Arngeir said, "the men rebelled against the dragons, and their priests. I hope you've at least heard of the Dragon War?"

"Oh, yeah," Cry said, waving her hand in the air. "Of course." In reality, she'd only very recently learned about it, after reading the book that Vilkas had suggested to her on dragons, but he didn't need to know that.

"So, as you might imagine," Arngeir said, "Dragonrend was produced from the severe hatred that those who invented it had felt their whole lives for dragons. And when you, Dragonborn, learn a Shout, you envelope it into your very being. You, essentially, become the shout." He looked at Cry, meeting her gaze. "If you were to learn this particular Shout, you would be taking the anger and hatred of those who created it into yourself."

Cry turned away, crossing her arms. She didn't like the sound of that, at all, but what else was there for her to do? She needed to defeat Alduin.

Although, she supposed it didn't even matter, if the Shout was lost.

"What else am I supposed to do, then?" she asked, looking at Arngeir once more.

The Greybeard seemed reluctant to share this next bit with her. "Only Paarthurnax, the leader of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses."

"Paarthurnax," Cry repeated, frowning.

Arngeir nodded. "Our leader. He surpasses us all in his knowledge of the Way of the Voice."

Cry lifted both her eyebrows at this. "If that's true, why haven't I met him yet?" she queried.

"He lives in seclusion at the very peak of the mountain," Arngeir explained. "He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege."

"Well, great privilege or not," Cry said, "I think I _need_ to see him."

"You were not ready, when we first welcome you," Arngeir said, "and you are still not ready." He shook his head. "But thanks to the Blades, you now have questions that only Parthunaax can answer."

Cry leaned up on her toes. "So, how do I get up to see him?" she prompted, and Arngeir lifted his gaze to the ceiling for a moment, clearly exasperated. Vilkas leaned over and nudged Cry with the back of his hand, and she brushed him off. "Master Arngeir?"

"Only those whose Voice is strong enough can find the path," the Greybeard said, lowering his eyes again. "We will teach you a Shout that will show you the way. Come."

He turned, and started towards the doors leading to the rear courtyard. Cry turned to Vilkas, smiling, only to lose it when she saw his own expression. "What?" she asked him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" When she furrowed her brow, Vilkas gestured vaguely. "I didn't like the sound of you… enveloping anger and hatred into you."

"Oh." Cry smiled, a little, and reached out, placing her hand on the back of his neck. "Vilkas, you don't need to worry about that. I've enveloped so many Words of Power at this point, I doubt three more are going to do anything too serious to me."

"But -"

"Vilkas." He met her gaze, and she lifted her eyebrows again, just a little. "It'll be fine, I promise. Who knows if this Parthunaax can even give me the Shout? We might have to figure out something completely different."

Vilkas didn't really look pacified by this, but he posed no further attempt at argument. Instead, he leaned down until he could kiss her. Cry smiled through it, and when he pulled back again, she kept his forehead against hers, by maintaining the grip she had on the back of his neck.

"It'll be fine," she repeated, softly. "Trust me."

"I do," Vilkas said. "Of course I do."

"Good," Cry replied, and she let go of him. "I guess I better go learn that Shout. You wanna watch? It's kinda boring, but you might get a kick out of it, being an intellectual."

Vilkas managed a smile of his own. "I'd love to watch," he said. "If it's anything like when you absorb a dragon's soul, I'm sure it'll be fantastic to witness."

Cry laughed, and took his hand, pulling him after her towards the doors, and then out into the courtyard.

The Greybeards had all gathered near a large gate, up a small incline. Cry and Vilkas trudged up to join them, and Arngeir gestured.

"Beyond this gate lies the path to Paarthurnax," he said. He then waved his hand over the ground, speaking three Words of Power as he did so: _"Lok… Vah… Koor."_

Cry approached the words, which glowed against the snowy ground, and smiled a little as she learned each one, learned their meanings. She then looked at Arngeir again, who nodded.

"I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies, Dragonborn," he said. This will be your final gift from us. Use it well."

Cry nodded in agreement, and bowed her head as Arngeir's knowledge of the Shout, _Clear Skies,_ moved from him to her. Her mind was flooded with years of study and meditation in the span of ten seconds, but she did not stagger, as she had before, when learning from them. It seemed she'd gotten fairly used to it.

Soon enough, however, it was over, and she lifted her head again. Arngeir looked a little wearier, now, than he had before. "Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time," he told her. "The pah to Parthunaax is perilous, not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit." He glanced at Vilkas. "I am afraid you cannot go with her, sir."

"What, why?" Vilkas asked immediately.

"It would not be safe to have two travel on the path," Arngeir told him. "And you are not part of our order. It would be blasphemy."

Vilkas seemed to be very annoyed by this, and was clearly prepared to argue. Before he could, however, Cry stepped in, knowing that Arngeir knew more about this than them.

"He's right, Vilkas," she said, soothingly. When he turned to her instead, flabbergasted, she shook her head. "I'll make it up safely on my own, and I'll come down safely, on my own. Wait here for me."

"Cry."

"Vilkas."

They studied one another for a long moment, before Vilkas relented with a sigh. "Fine," he said. "But if you don't come down within the hour -"

"There's nothing you'll be able to do about it, so don't finish that sentence," Cry told him, patting him on the cheek. "But I'll be back."

She turned to the gate, which swung open as though she'd commanded it to, and she blinked when she realized how quickly the wind was blowing on the other side, especially in comparison to where she stood. It created a white sheet of snow in front of her, one that she could not see through.

"Well," she said, under her breath. "This should be fun."

* * *

Cry hiked up the last bit of incline, and paused at the edge of a snow covered clearing of sorts, at the very height of the mountain. She shivered a little, involuntarily, and wrapped her arms closer around herself, peering around. There didn't seem to be any sign that anyone lived up here.

"Shit," she mumbled, walking further into the clearing, and moving beside a large stone wall that shielded her from the worst of the wind. "Arngeir - dammit! All because I've been working with the Blades."

Almost as soon as she finished speaking, a very familiar noise reached her ears, even above the rushing wind. She straightened up immediately, feeling the vibrations of an approaching dragon through the ground. She moved away from the wall, reaching up to pull her sword free from its scabbard, but hesitated as she watched an aged dragon land on top of the wall she'd just been leaning up against. It peered down at her for a moment, an intelligent glimmer in its slanted eyes.

After a long moment, during which Cry was debating turning tail and racing back down the mountain, the dragon spoke.

_"Drem Yo Lok,"_ it began, its voice rocky with age and wisdom. "Greetings, _wunduniik._ I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my _strunmah_… my mountain?"

Cry was amazed. Out of all the dragons she'd done battle with, this was the first to speak in the Common Tongue. And, apparently, this dragon was also the leader of the Greybeards. The day had really taken a turn.

"I wasn't… expecting you to be a dragon," she said after a second.

"I am as my father Akatosh made me," the dragon replied. "As are you, _Dovahkiin."_

"So you know who I am," Cry said, and Paarthurnax shifted on top of the stone wall, which she realized belatedly was actually covered in faded Words of Power.

"Forgive me," he said. "It has been long since I last _tinvaak_ with a stranger. I gave in to the temptation to prolong our speech."

Cry shifted her weight to her other foot. "So… you're the master of the Greybeards?"

"They see me as master," Paarthurnax allowed. _"Wuth. Onik._ Old and wise. It is true that I am old…"

Cry let out something that might have been a laugh, under other circumstances. "Why do you live up here on a mountain, if you love conversation?" she asked him.

_"Evenaar bahlok,"_ Paarthurnax said, and at her blank expression, continued, "There are many hungers it is better to deny than to feed. _Dreh ni nahkip._ Discipline against the lesser aids in _qahnaar_… denial of the greater."

"I guess that makes sense," Cry said, although she didn't want to know what greater hungers he was thinking about.

"Tell me, _Dovahkiin,"_ Paarthunax began. "Why do you come here? Why do you intrude on my meditation?"

Cry exhaled, and straightened her shoulders, looking up at the dragon. "I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout," she said. "Can you teach it to me?"

Paarthurnax released a sound similar to a hum. "_Drem._ Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the meeting of two of the _dov._ By long tradition, the elder speaks first."

Cry quickly moved backwards as Paarthurnax took to the air again, only to circle and land in the snow beside her.

"Here my Thu'um!" he exclaimed. "Feel it in your bones! Match it, if you are _Dovahkiin."_ His head swung towards the Word Wall, and Cry watched in fascination as a dragon, for the first time, did not use its Voice to attack someone or something. Instead, he blew fire at the Wall, using Words that she was very familiar with.

He then turned to her. "Now, show me what you can do," he invited. "Greet me not as mortal, but as _dovah._ Do not be afraid. _Faasnu._ Let me feel the power of your Thu'um."

"At you?" Cry asked, amazed, and Paarthunax nodded. She hesitated a moment, before reaching for the correct Word of Power within her. _"Yol!"_

Fire washed over Paarthurnax, and the dragon closed his eyes for a moment in appreciation. "Mm, yes," he hummed. _"Sossedov los mul._ The dragonblood runs strong in you. "It is long since I had the please of speech with one of my own kind."

Cry smiled a bit at this. She enjoyed hearing this like that, and coming from a dragon, it meant even more.

"So. You have made your way here, to me," Paarthurnax went on, drawing her attention again. "No easy task for a _joor…_ mortal."

"You don't need to correct yourself," Cry told him. "I know a bit of the Dragon language."

Paarthurnax seemed amused by this. "I'm sure you do," he said, agreeably. "Nonetheless, your journey must have been a difficult one, even for you, _dovah sos._ What would you ask of me?"

"Dragonrend," Cry repeated.

Paarthurnax dipped his head. "Yes," he said. "I have expected this. You seek your weapon against Alduin, not _tinvaak_ with an old _dovah."_

"Sorry," Cry said. "Maybe some other time, when he isn't going to destroy the whole world."

"Yes, of course," Paarthurnax said after a moment.

There was a moment of silence. Paarthurnax seemed to have fallen into deep thought. Cry hesitated a moment, before saying, "The Greybeards didn't want me to come."

Paarthurnax let out something akin to a sigh. "Yes, they are very protective of me," he agreed. _Bahlaan fahdonne._ All the same, I do not know the Thu'um you see. _Krosis."_

Cry's shoulders fell. She shouldn't have been surprised to hear this, and really, she wasn't. Mostly disappointed.

"How do I learn it, then?" she asked, mostly to herself, but she was grateful that Paarthurnax had an answer for her.

_"Drem,"_ he said. "All in good time. First, a question for you." Cry tilted her head, waiting. Paarthurnax copied the motion. "Why do you wish to learn this Thu'um?"

"I thought that was clear," Cry said. "I need to stop Alduin."

"Yes," Paarthurnax said, thoughtfully. "Alduin… _zeymah._ The elder brother. Gifted, grasping and troublesome, as is so often the case with firstborn. But why? Why must you stop Alduin?"

"The prophecy says that only the Dragonborn can stop him," Cry said, and she gestured to herself. "Dragonborn."

"True," Paarthunax replied, "but _qostiid_ \- prophecy - tells what may be, not what should be. Just because you can do a thing does not always mean that you should. Do you have no better reason for acting than destiny? Are you nothing but a plaything of _dex_… of fate?"

Cry considered for a moment, before shrugging. "I like this world," she said. "I don't want it to end."

Paarthurnax dipped his head in agreement. "_Pruzah_. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg for the next _kalpa? Lein vokiin?_ Would you stop the next world from being born?"

"The next world will have to take care of itself," Cry decided.

_"Paaz,"_ Paarthurnax allowed, clearly amused again. "A fair answer. _Ro fus…_ maybe you only balance the forces at work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end. _Wulsetiid los tahrodiis._ Those who try to hasten the end may delay it. Those who work to delay the end may bring it closer."

"Sorry, but I'm not so sure I buy into all that," Cry said. "I just want to do what I can to stop Alduin from killing everything. Can you help me do that or not?"

Paarthurnax examined her for a moment. "Do you know why I live here?" he finally asked. "At the peak of the _Mohaven?_ What you name Throat of the World?"

Cry shrugged again. "Dragons like mountains?"

"True," Paarthurnax said. "But few now remember that this is the place where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. _Vahrukt unslaad…_ perhaps none but me now remember how he was defeated."

"I never really thought about it," Cry admitted.

"Here is where the ancient Tongues brought Alduin to battle," Paarthurnax said.

"Using Dragonrend," Cry pushed.

"Yes and no," Paarthurnax allowed. _"Viik nuz ni kron._ Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to… defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin, but this was not enough. _Ok mulaag unslaad._ It was the Kel - the Elder Scroll. They used it to… cast him adrift on the currents of time."

Cry had furrowed her brow. "An Elder Scroll," she repeated. "Those are just fables, I thought."

"They are, and they are not," Paarthurnax said. "They have always existed, and yet have never existed. They are… fragments of creation. The _Kelle_ \- Elder Scrolls, as you name them - they have been used for prophecy. Your own prophecy comes from an Elder Scroll. But prophecy is only a small part of their power."

Cry blinked at him. "Are you saying that the ancient Nords sent Alduin forward in time? To here?"

Paarthurnax sighed again, shaking out his wings. Quite a bit of snow had fallen since they'd first started to talk. "Not intentionally," he said. "Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. I knew better, however. Time flows ever onward. One day, he would resurface. Which is why I have lived here, and for thousands of years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge, but not when."

Cry had been studying the sun. She could tell that it was nearing four o'clock. She'd need to get back down to High Hrothgar relatively soon, if she and Vilkas wanted to get back down the mountain before dark.

"How does any of this help me?" she prompted, deciding that if Paarthurnax didn't have an answer for her, it was time to go.

"Time was shattered here, because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin," Paathurnax told her. "If you brought that _Kel_ back here, to the Tiid-Ahran, to the Time-Wound… with the Elder Scroll that was used to break time, you might be able to cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it."

"Travel back in time?" Cry said, incredulous. "That's ridiculous."

"You would not interact with anything there," Paarthurnax. "You would not be more than a spector, a witness to what occurred here, all those centuries ago."

Cry still didn't think she believed such a thing was possible, but it appeared to be the next thing to try. She needed Dragonrend.

"Fine," she said. "It's worth a shot. Do you know where I might find the Elder Scroll?"

"No," Paarthurnax said. "I know little of what has passed in the long years I have lived here. You are likely better informed than I."

"I'm not," Cry said with a sigh, and then she perked up. "But I know someone who is. I'll talk to him, see what he thinks."

"Trust your instincts, _Dovahkiin,"_ Paarthurnax told her. "Your blood will show you the way."

Cry nodded in agreement. "All right. Hopefully, we'll be able to find it."

"Destiny knows the answer to that," Paarthurnax said.

_Destiny,_ Cry thought with a snort, as she started back down the path that would return her to High Hrothgar.

She reached the rear courtyard more quickly than she was able to climb the path; it seemed that reaching the top had allayed whatever magic made the wind blow so hard. She was unsurprised to find Vilkas waiting there for her, and she smiled when he stood up in relief at spotting her.

"How did it go?" he asked, taking her hands.

"Fine," Cry assured. "He's a dragon."

"A dragon?" She nodded, and Vilkas hummed. "Well, stranger things have happened. What did he tell you?"

"We need to find an Elder Scroll," Cry answered.

"And Elder Scroll. Those are meant to be myths," Vilkas said. "A… a way for authors to tell their stories, without having to worry about plot points not making sense in the end."

"I thought so too," Cry said, "but apparently, the ancient Nords used one to cast Alduin forward in time, which is why he's here now." She shook her head. "Paarthurnax thinks that I can use the Scroll to see into the past, and learn Dragonrend from those who created it."

Vilkas gazed at her for a moment, and then he said, "If anyone will know where to find an Elder Scroll, it would have to be the Lorekeeper, at the College of Winterhold."

Cry smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I knew you'd have an idea," she said, happily. "We should head back down the mountain now. We can get a room in Ivarstead, and then travel to Winterhold tomorrow."

Vilkas nodded in agreement. "Let's go," he said.

They headed back into High Hrothgar, but Cry hesitated when she spotted Arngeir, kneeling before one of the many different posts of worship inside.

"Give me a second," she said to Vilkas, who dipped his head, and walked away a few paces.

Cry walked over to where Arngeir was, waiting for him to speak to her, which he did so, after a moment: "You've met with Paarthurnax. The dragonblood shines brightly within you. What did he say?"

"I have to find an Elder Scroll," Cry replied.

Arngeir sniffed. "Then I wish you luck," he said. "It is doubtful that it still exists within Skyrim, if it even exists at all."

Cry crossed her arms. "I wish you would understand my point in doing all this," she said. "I only want to save the world. What fault could you find in that?"

"The way you plan to go about it," Arngeir answered, simply. "Farewell, Dragonborn."

Cry continued to stare at him for a moment, before giving up. She walked back over to where Vilkas was, and he looked past her towards Arngeir.

"Not good?" he asked, and Cry lifted one shoulder in response. Vilkas sighed, a little, and tilted his head towards the doors. "We should go."

"Yes," Cry said. "Good idea."


	34. Chapter 32: Ice Fields

"I wonder, sometimes, why I never spent as much time in Winterhold when I was younger," Cry commented, as Vilkas helped her down from the carriage they'd rented, "but then I remember: it's too fucking cold here."

Vilkas smiled in amusement. "You're a Nord, Cry," he said, lightly. "And Dragonborn, on top of that. The cold should be the least of your issues with the whole city."

"You're probably right," Cry sighed, peering around. Winterhold was the northernmost Skyrim city, and as such, appeared to be fairly untouched by the civil war, or otherwise. She was mildly impressed, but that did not shift her distaste for the city in the slightest. It could hardly be called a city.

"Well, the less time we have to spend here, the better," she decided, sliding her arm through the crook of Vilkas's elbow. "How do you think we're going to get into the College?"

"With charm," Vilkas answered.

"Hm, then I guess I better do all the talking," Cry teased, and she laughed when he bent down and tossed some snow at her in retort.

They headed down the main… street, to where the entrance to the College of Winterhold sat, at the end. There was someone standing there, unsurprising, acting as a sentinel of sorts, and she glared at them both as they approached.

"Cross the bridge at your own peril," she said. "The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open. You will not gain entry."

"Why's that?" Cry prompted.

"What is it that you expect to find within?" the guard retorted.

Cry sighed. "Assistance," she said. "I need to speak with your librarian. I'm the Dragonborn."

"The Dragonborn. Hah! And I'm the heir to the Thalmor Embassy!" the sentinel retorted.

"It's true, she is Dragonborn," Vilkas put in. "She could prove it to you."

"Could she?" The sentinel seemed disbelieving, and she looked Cry up and down. "I bet."

"I could," Cry said, "but it would draw quite a bit of attention, and I'm not sure any of us want that."

The sentinel continued to study her for a moment, before letting out a breath that appeared in front of her face as a cloud. "Fine," she muttered. "Follow me."

Cry and Vilkas exchanged a pleased glance, before doing just that.

She led them across the bridge, which Cry had to admit was fairly perilous. When they reached the large steel gate on the other end, the sentinel did some kind of magic that caused it to open.

"The library is in the building across the courtyard, down the stairs behind the door on the right of the main hall inside," she said, turning to them.

"Thank you," Cry said, pleasantly, and then she led the way into the courtyard on the other side of the gate.

They crossed it, following the stone path, to the building on the opposite side. Cry decided that she didn't like the feeling of the College, but chalked it up to the fact that she'd never liked magic, or those who used it. Vilkas seemed to be just as uncomfortable.

"The sooner we talk to the librarian, the sooner we can get out of here," she murmured to him. He grunted in agreement, and pulled open the door of the building the library was found in.

They found the space easily enough. It was hard to miss a room filled with bookshelves. Cry wrinkled her nose as soon as she walked inside, and looked at Vilkas.

"This place smells perfect for you," she told him, and he rolled his eyes.

"Can I help you?"

They turned towards the new voice, and Cry smiled at the orc that was standing behind a counter near the rear of the room. She walked closer to where he was.

"Hello," she greeted. "I think you _can_ help us, actually. We're looking for an Elder Scroll." The orc gazed at her, unmoved. Cry reached the counter, and placed her hands on top of it, drumming her fingers. "You've heard of them?"

"I have," the orc grumbled. "I wonder what you plan to do with it, once you have one. Do you know what you're asking about, or are you just someone's errand girl?"

Cry frowned at him. "I know what it is," she said, defensive. "I just don't know where to get one."

"No, and you don't know how you'd _read_ it, either," the orc retorted. "Only a person whose mind has been rigorously trained to do so can read an Elder Scroll, which, I imagine, yours is not."

"Well, no," Cry said, "but, like, maybe I'm built for it. I'm Dragonborn."

"Dragonborn or not," the orc said, crossing his burly arms over his burly chest, "do you really think I'd let you see it, if I had one?" Cry merely gazed at him, and the orc shifted on his feet. "But… are you really the Dragonborn? The one the Greybeards summoned?"

"Yep," Cry responded, dropping her arms to her sides. "And I'm here to… fulfill a prophecy, and I need an Elder Scroll to do that."

The orc studied her for a long moment, before he sighed, dropping his own arms again. "Fine," he said. "I'll bring everything we have on Elder Scrolls to you, but it really isn't much."

He walked away, disappearing behind a bookshelf, and Cry turned around to find Vilkas. He had settled down into one of the many armchairs in the space, holding a book. Cry smiled to herself, feeling as though she'd burst with her affection for him.

"Here." She turned back to the orc, who had reappeared, and was setting three different books down on the counter. "Try not to spill anything on them."

"I have nothing to spill," Cry answered, pulling the books closer and flipping the rattiest looking one open.

She furrowed her brow almost immediately, unable to decipher any of the words on the first page as actual Common speak. She looked up at the librarian again.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" she asked.

He peered at the book she had open, and snorted. "This is the work of Septimus Signus. He's the world's master on the nature of Elder Scrolls, but… well. He's been gone for a long while. Too long."

Cry frowned. "Where did he go?"

"Somewhere up north, in the ice fields," the librarian said with a shrug. "Said he found some old Dwemer artifact, but… well, that was years ago. Haven't heard from him since."

"So he's dead?" Cry guessed, the hopes that she'd allowed to rise just the slightest bit ready to sink back down.

"Oh, no," the librarian assured, quickly. The hopes sparked just a little. "But even I haven't seen him in years, and we were close. Became obsessed with the Dwemer, and I supposed he was really focused on figuring out that artifact."

Cry sighed. "So, to find him, I'll have to go on a trek through the ice fields outside of Winterhold?"

"Yeah," the librarian responded, smiling benignly. "Enjoy."

Cry groaned, a little, and spun on her heel, heading for the door of the library. Vilkas hurriedly stood up and followed after her, waving to the librarian as he went.

"So?" he prompted once he and Cry were making their way back across the courtyard.

"We're going on a bit of a hike," Cry replied, glumly. When Vilkas lifted an eyebrow, she shook her head. "Apparently, there's someone who knows quite a bit about Elder Scrolls relatively close by. The downside is that he appears to be insane, and he lives somewhere in the ice fields beyond Winterhold."

"Oh." Vilkas shrugged. "Well, if we need the information he can offer us, there's no reason to complain."

"I guess not," Cry said, "but I'd prefer it if we didn't have to go looking for his house in the middle of the _ice fields."_

Vilkas smiled a little as they reached the other side of the bridge. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll probably have to shield me from the cold."

Cry doubted that very much.

* * *

It didn't take as long as she'd feared it would to find the outpost where Septimus Signus had camped out. It was the only building or sorts in site, across an ice covered field that Cry was positive would break apart under her feet with every step she took.

"It's solid," Vilkas assured her. He'd taken her hand in his, in order to coax her onto the field in the first place, and now he was tugging her along again, as she'd paused at the sight of the wooden door built into the side of what seemed to be an iceberg. "Come on, we're almost there."

"Wait, Vilkas," Cry started, unwilling to move. He looked at her, and she glanced around. "What - where do we go from here, if he isn't able to help us?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, "but perhaps we can think about it after we know for sure whether or not this Signus fellow can help?"

Cry studied him for a long moment, her brow furrowed, uncertain. Vilkas offered her a smile, and gently squeezed her hand.

"It's going to be fine," he assured her. "You won't have to figure it out on your own, I promise."

Cry lowered her gaze, and nodded, stepping closer to him. Together, they walked the rest of the distance towards the shack, which Vilkas pushed open the door of. They then ducked inside.

Cry immediately noticed, and was amazed by, how warm it was inside. After climbing down the ladder just inside the door, she glanced around, examining the narrow hall surrounded on all sides by ice that they had entered into, curious.

"Strange," Vilkas said, running his fingers along the surface of the ice. "I'd read that people used to make their homes within ice huts, but I'd never fully understood how it was that they were liveable." He turned back to Cry. "I guess with the ice melting, and then freezing over again, it adds an extra insular layer to the whole thing."

"Great," Cry said, "but not necessarily what we're here for, is it?"

Vilkas's shoulders fell. "Right, sorry," he said.

"Don't apologize for knowing things," Cry told him, "but maybe we can chat about ice huts later." She started down the hallway, and Vilkas followed after her.

The hallway opened up into a large space, extending down in a ramp that led to the bottom. Peering over the edge of the ramp, Cry spotted who could only be Septimus Signus at the bottom, pacing in front of a large golden object.

She glanced back at Vilkas. "What's that?" she asked, nodding towards the object.

Vilkas examined it for a moment, and then shook his head. "I couldn't say," he replied. "It looks to be of Dwemer make, but I don't know what it is, exactly."

"Hm." Cry looked once more down at Signus, before she continued down the ramp. As she got further down, she could hear Signus mumbling to himself. It sounded like nonsense, and her hopes dimmed just a bit. Even if this man did know about Elder Scrolls, the likelihood of him being able to articulate his knowledge was slimming.

"Septimus Signus?" she began, reaching the bottom of the ramp, and he turned to look in her direction. She lifted a hand in greeting. "My name is Cry. I'm Dragonborn. I heard that you know about Elder Scrolls?"

Signus's eyes flashed a bit, with the light of intelligence. "Elder Scrolls," he mused. "Indeed. The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think." He turned back to the dwarven device behind him. "The ones they saw," he continued. "The ones they thought they saw. I know of one."

"You do?" Cry asked, her eyebrows rising.

"Forgotten. Sequestered." Signus was still speaking, as though he hadn't heard her. "But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I… I have arisen beyond its grasp."

Cry looked at Vilkas. "What is he saying?" she asked, helpless.

Vilkas looked at Signus, and approached him. "Septimus," he started, and the hermit turned to him. "We need to know about the Elder Scroll. You said you know of one."

Signus turned against to the dwarven device. He reached out a hand, and placed it on the smooth surface. "The ice entombs the heart," he said, lowly. "The bane of Kagrenac and Dagoth Ur. To harness it is to know. The fundaments." He sighed. "The Dwemer lockbox hides it from me. The Elder Scroll gives insight deeper than the deep ones, though. To bring about the opening."

"You have the Elder Scroll with you, then? To help you open the lockbox?" Vilkas queried.

"I've seen enough to know their fabric," Signus said. "The warp of air, the weft of time." Cry leaned forward a little, waiting to hear the magic words. "But, no. It is not in my possession."

Cry blew out a disappointed breath, and turned away. Vilkas, however, was not finished.

"Where is the Scroll, then?" he asked.

"Here," Signus said, and when Cry turned back to him, he smiled a bit. "Well, here as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking. On the cosmological scale, it's all nearby."

"All right," Vilkas said, and Cry could tell he was losing his patience. "Can you help us get the Elder Scroll or not?"

Signus grinned at him. "One block lifts another," he said, putting up two fingers. "Septimus will give you what you want, but you must bring him something in return."

Vilkas looked at Cry, who could only lift her shoulders. Signus seemed to know where an Elder Scroll was. If they had to do something for him in order to get that knowledge, what other choice did they have?

"Fine," Vilkas said, turning back to Signus. "What do you want?"

Signus hopped a little, gleeful, and spread his arms, indicating the dwarven device. "You see this masterwork of the Dwemer. Deep inside their greatest knowings. Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer." He turned to them, and tapped his temple. "Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies."

At both Vilkas and Cry's blank expressions, his grin widened. "Have you heard of Blackreach?" he asked. "'Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.'"

"So the Elder Scroll is in Blackreach," Cry said, "which is where, exactly?"

"Under deep," Signus said. "Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark. Alftand. The point of puncture, or first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its depths, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock."

Cry had to take a moment, to rub at her temples. Talking to this man was really giving her a headache. Vilkas placed a comforting hand on her back, speaking to Signus: "How do we get in?"

"Two things I have for you," Signus said, and he hurried over to a table against one side of the space. "Two shapes. One edged, one round." He turned back to them, holding out two shapes, as he'd said. He lifted one. "The round one, for turning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle, and needed to open their cleverest gates." He lifted the other. "The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But… empty."

He held out both shapes, both lexicons, and Vilkas took them. "Find Mzark and its sky-dome," Signus instructed. "The machinations there will read the scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know."

Vilkas looked down at the two lexicons for a moment, examining them. Neither were marked in any way. He turned to Cry, and placed both gently into the pack she wore, at the bottom so that they wouldn't move around much.

"Thank you for the information," he said to Signus, and then he looked at Cry. "Come on."

She followed him back up the ramp, and then down the first hallway outside. Once they were back across the ice field, on stable ground, she turned to him.

"Thank you," she said. "I would have… lost my patience a lot sooner, than you did."

"I know," he said, smiling slightly. "That's why I took the lead." He glanced around for a moment, before sighing. "Well, where do you think we should start looking for this… Tower of Mzark?"

"He also mentioned Alftand, which is an ancient dwarven ruin," Cry said, remembering all the maps that Esbern had had at his disposal. One had been of all the locations of dwarven ruins within Skyrim. "It's southwest of here." She looked at Vilkas. "I guess that's where we could start."

"It's not like we have any other ideas," Vilkas said. "Let's give it a try."


	35. Chapter 33: Excavating A Ruin

The trek to Alftand took close to four hours. The snow didn't help, nor did the fact that it was almost dark by the time they started moving. The path led them through a ravine of sorts, between two high cliffs. They had to deal with a few wolves and a bear on the way, which wasn't much of a problem for two Companions.

All the same, before the two moons were at their zenith, Cry and Vilkas crested a ridge to the sight of different towers sticking up out of the snow. They paused, taking the sight in, before exchanging a glance, and heading towards the ruin.

Finding the best way down was the difficult part. There were a series of bridges connecting the towers to one another, and it was hard to decipher which tower led into the ruin proper, and which ones were stand-alone. Vilkas eventually pointed out a cave entrance that looked promising, and Cry, not seeing anything to lose, led the way over bridges and down steep staircases to it.

Once they were through, they were at least out of the worst of the snow storm outside. Cry was immediately grateful for her wolf's blood allowing her to see more easily in darkened spaces. The inside appeared to have been built for mining or something similar, as there were wooden supports holding up snow and ice-covered walls and the ceiling.

"We don't need to explore," Cry decided, peering down the path, which seemed to lead further into the mountain. She looked back at Vilkas. "Right?"

He shrugged. "I don't feel it necessary," he said, "although I am curious to know what people were doing down here, if they were looking for signs of dwarven life, or otherwise."

"Well, maybe when we aren't on a mission to save the world, we can come back," Cry suggested, and she started down the path, glad that her boots were giving her solid purchase against the slick ground.

Eventually, the path evened out a bit, and opened up into an established area with stone walls and pillars. Vilkas nodded to himself, and easily identified it as the work of Dwemer.

"They clearly were down here, once," he said to Cry. "And… listen."

She did so, pausing to focus her hearing. Her brow furrowed as she realized that she could hear a voice, coming from somewhere. She glanced at Vilkas, feeling a mixture of concern and confusion. He merely lifted his shoulders, and then tapped the hilt of his greatsword, an indication that they could handle anything that they came upon.

Cry knew that he was right. With that in mind, they kept going.

The further they went, the easier it was to identify that no one had been down in the ruins for a long time, whether they be dwarves or excavationists. The place was abandoned, cold. Cry didn't think anything would be able to survive down there for an extended period of time.

Anything that was actually _alive,_ of course.

She had to make that alteration to her view when they encountered two metal creatures that Vilkas identified as dwarven spider workers, which came at them on metal legs, that they also used to try and attack. Cry was not a fan of the way that her sword's blade clashed against the metal frame of the things. She'd have to ask Eorlund to sharpen it for her, when she was able to return to Jorrvaskr.

She managed to kill one, and Vilkas took care of the other. They reconvened in the center of the space where the spider workers had attacked.

"Are you all right?" Vilkas asked, worry evident in his expression. Cry was confused by it, until he pointed out the cut that she'd received on her leg. She hadn't even noticed it happen, but seeing it felt the sting almost at once.

"Here," Vilkas said, pulling her over to a rundown stone table. He helped her climb up onto the edge of it, and then set to work dealing with her injury, pulling out linen bandages from her pack.

"I'm fine, Vilkas," Cry tried, but he ignored her in favor of wrapping the injury. She smiled a little, watching him work, and then looked up again, glancing around the space. "The Dwemer were great at building."

Vilkas snorted, lightly. "That's a bit of an understatement," he said. He straightened up, having tucked the bandages in, and helped her down from the table again. "Tell me if it's too tight."

Cry walked around in a circle, and nodded. "It's fine," she said. "Thank you."

Vilkas nodded, and then gestured. "Let's keep going."

They did so, getting lost only once, before the same voice they'd heard before reached them again, without having to focus their hearing this time. Cry was able to decipher it as belonging to a Khajiit, and from the sound of it, they were close.

She looked over at Vilkas, who dipped his head back, reaching up to pull out his sword again. Cry did the same, and they rounded a corner.

Metal pipes rose up out of the ground and disappeared through the ceiling. One wall was stone, the other ice. The Khajiit crouched against the stone wall, next to the body of another Khajiit, and they hissed when they spotted Cry and Vilkas.

"What? Who is this, Brother? More smooth skins, looking for food?" Their head cocked to the side. "But these ones weren't trapped with us."

"What happened down here?" Cry asked, and the Khajiit's ears pressed back against their head as they hissed again.

"You won't get the food we have left!" they said, and then darted forward, pulling out two daggers at the same time. Cry sidestepped, relieved that Vilkas had done the same, and they both swung at the Khajiit as they skidded over the ice, stumbling without anything to meet. The cat wailed as their Skyforge steel met their back. They hit the ground, and did not get up again.

Cry sighed, and slid her greatsword away once more. "Shame," she said, glancing between the cat they'd killed, and the one dead already. I wonder if they were part of the excavation team, or if they were just staying down here."

"No way of knowing now," Vilkas said. "I think we're getting close to the ruin proper."

He was right. They continued forward, and eventually made it past any sign of ice at all, although the air was still very cold. At the same time, however, steam was puffing up from grates in the pipes that they passed by, hot steam. Cry had to wonder how the place was still running, without no one around to keep it going.

"The workers," Vilkas explained, when she mentioned this aloud. "They're still at work, even with the dwarves gone."

"But how are _they_ still running?" Cry asked. "I mean, don't they need maintenance, too?"

Vilkas was unable to answer, for at that moment, two more spider workers, and something he called a sphere appeared, ready to attack and defend the ruin. Cry ended up facing off against the sphere, which she did not appreciate. The thing was tough, and had a powerful attack. It lashed out at her with metal arms, catching her in the side of the head, and she staggered, her vision going black.

"Cry!" she heard Vilkas exclaim, and then she heard him shout as he swung his sword at the two spider workers. Cry blinked rapidly, to regain her senses, and straightened up to face the sphere. It had circled around, waiting to see if she'd get back up. She was glad that she could, and she elected to give Shouting a try.

_"Yol!"_

Fire burst from her mouth and at the sphere. The thing whirred, angrily, and spun in a circle, clearly uncertain of how to deal with flames. The metal hadn't caught, obviously, but the heat from the flames did appear to have softened it, a bit, giving Cry a thinner target to strike at. She did so, and her blade sank into the things center, straight through. When she pulled it out again, the sphere hunched over, and did not move again.

Cry let out a breath of relief, and stepped back. Vilkas immediately hurried over to where she was, and placed his hands on either side of her face, turning her head this way and that, peering into her eyes.

"Vilkas -"

"It hit you hard," Vilkas said, his voice low. "Are your ears ringing? Are you seeing double?"

"No," Cry said, reaching up with the hand she wasn't holding her sword with, and placing it over his. "I'm fine, really. It startled me, mostly."

"Are you sure?" She nodded, and Vilkas let out a breath, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment, before stepping back again. "I don't know how I would've dealt with it, if I'd let you do this alone."

"Well, you wouldn't have known _what_ I was doing, so maybe it would've been easier?" At the look on his face, Cry relented, and leaned forward, resting her forehead on his shoulder. "No, you're right, it would've been worse, probably." She exhaled a breath. "I'm glad you're here, too."

Vilkas let out a quiet chuckle. "The faster we keep moving, the faster we can get out of here," he said, and Cry nodded in agreement, straightening up again.

"Let's go."

They did so, and eventually pushed their way through heavy metal doors into a new part of the ruin, that was much more lively than the one they'd been in originally. They encountered a few more spider workers along the way, but thankfully, not another sphere. All the while, the entire ruin was active, pumps running, steam flowing. Cry couldn't understand it.

Vilkas did his best to explain why it was all still running, and how, but she didn't really absorb any of it, too focused on getting through the ruin without getting lost. It was similar to a maze, she decided, and just as difficult to navigate. She decided if she never had to deal with another Dwemer ruin, she'd be happy.

They successfully made it through a large piece of ruin without getting lost, or without getting another injury. Cry warily crept through the gate that Vilkas had opened by reaching through the bars to tug down a lever, and peered over the edge of the path, far down to what was below.

"I can't believe this," she said. "How did -"

"Stop asking questions if you aren't actually going to pay attention to my answers," Vilkas said, already making his way down the ramp that led further in. "Come on."

At the bottom was a locked door. Vilkas sighed, testing it several times, before he looked at her.

"Locked," he said. "What're we going to do now?"

"Well," Cry said, pulling off her pack again. "I haven't had to do this in a while, but I'll give it a go."

She retrieved the only lockpick she had, and a dagger, and set to work on the door. Vilkas watched, and she could tell he was curious as to how she knew how to do this. To say she knew how to lockpick a door was stretching it, a little, but all the same, she managed to get it open within a few minutes.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked her.

"I got into some things, in Morrowind," she said after a moment. "It was a skill I picked up."

Vilkas hummed a little, under his breath, and pushed the door open wider. "Well, thank goodness for that," he said, and waved her through.

There were two spider workers on the other side, but they took them down easily enough. Cry was beginning to understand the best way of doing so. From there, it was more of the same, although the enemies changed. Rather than dwarven machinery, they encountered a creature called Falmer instead.

"Snow elves," Vilkas explained, once they'd made it past the worst of them. "They used to be a normal elven species, like Altmer, but something happened, and now they're blind, and very untrustworthy of everyone else." He shook his head. "It's sad, really."

"What's sad is that magic is so damn powerful," Cry mumbled, nursing a burn that she'd been dealt by one of the elves.

Vilkas smiled, and walked away to scout ahead while she finished with her injury. Why she was the one getting hurt, she couldn't guess, but she knew he wouldn't let her forget it, once they'd gotten what they'd come for. She sighed, a little, and finished bandaging the burn, before standing up and going after Vilkas.

She found him in an alcove of sorts, standing next to a lever. He gestured down to it when she joined him. "What do you think this does?" he asked.

"If we're lucky, it opens some hidden compartment that the Elder Scroll is inside of," Cry replied. "But I doubt it."

Vilkas pulled the lever, and then jumped back as the floor started to move. Cry started. "What're you doing?" she asked, and quickly clambered up onto the platform.

"What're _you_ doing?" Vilkas retorted, but Cry was unable to respond, as the floor had kept moving up, and he was no longer in sight. She frowned to herself, and walked away from it, down a short passage. There was a lever on the wall, and she pushed it, unsurprised to see it opened a pretty severe looking gate. She decided that she didn't want to continue forward on her own, however, especially seeing blood on the floor, and so she went back to the original platform and hit the lever again.

It returned her to the first floor, where Vilkas was still standing, looking flabbergasted. "I can't believe you did that!" he said, hotly.

"Well, I wanted to see where it went," Cry responded, annoyed. "There's a path up there, but there's still a way to go down here, so… what should we do?"

Vilkas sighed a little. "I think we should stick with the way we've been going," he said. "Why alter course?"

Cry shrugged. "Fine," she said. "Makes sense to me."

So they continued the way they had been going, following ramps down to the lowest level possible. At the bottom, they encountered more Falmer, and some spiders. Cry joked that she was lucky Farkas wasn't here instead, and Vilkas smiled in response, cutting one down with a single strike of his sword.

When all the enemies were dead, they passed through another door, thankfully not locked, this time, and followed the passage beyond it to a set of stairs that had a pretty obvious trap at the bottom of them. Cry made a face at it, and then looked at Vilkas.

"I dare you," she said.

"What, to trip it?" Vilkas snorted. "Absolutely not."

Cry grinned, and they continued on through another set of doors. On the other side, there were floor tiles to avoid that Cry knew spewed fire when touched, and a single Falmer to kill, before a third set of doors. These ones opened up into a very large area, that felt like they were outside, almost, even though they weren't.

Plenty of Falmer jumped out to impede them, but Cry and Vilkas methodically cut them all down, before coming back together in the center of the space, before a large gate. Cry tilted her head, peering at it, wondering if she was slim enough to fit between the bars if she took off her armor.

"There was a lever, up there," Vilkas said, indicating a set of stairs he'd been pushed up in the fight. "I'll go hit it."

"Sure," Cry said agreeably, and watched him run up the stairs again. A moment later, the bars blocking their path disappeared into the ground, and Cry passed through the gate. "Good job!" she called back to Vilkas, only to turn forward again and stop dead in her tracks.

A large golden behemoth stood in the way, its head the same design as some of the statues they'd seen in the ruins. Cry swallowed, and took a step back.

"So, listen," she began, carefully, "uhm. We're just passing through. We don't have to hurt you, if you don't hurt us."

Unfortunately, it seemed the behemoth didn't speak Common. It stepped forward towards her, menacingly, and Cry wondered if this was where she'd die.

Before she could fully contemplate it, her hair fluttered as Vilkas rushed past her with a battle cry, sword held high. He started attacking the machine without pause, hacking away at its metal legs while deftly avoiding its dangerous looking arms. Cry could only blink in shock when he, apparently, cut off whatever was keeping it running, for the thing collapsed to the ground with a loud crash of metal.

Vilkas took a few steps back from it, panting, and glanced at her, using his wrist to brush a strand of hair out of his face. Cry blinked again, several more times, before she cleared her throat.

"Well done, Master at Arms," she said, glad her voice didn't fail her. "Thank you. Let's keep moving."

She moved past him, up a set of stairs, and opened the golden gate at the top, which opened into a small area that had a strange device in the center of it. She hesitated, however, when she heard a voice, and glanced up from the device to see that two people had emerged from behind pillars, in mid-conversation, even though they had their weapons out.

"Sulla, let's just get out of here. Hasn't there been enough death?" one asked the other.

The other one, Sulla, snorted. "Oh, of course you want me to leave. Just waiting for me to turn my back. So you can have all the glory for yourself!"

"Uh, excuse me?" Cry started, and they both turned towards her, startled by her presence. "Hi, not to interrupt or anything, but… what are the two of you doing here?"

The couple exchanged a look, before they both rounded the device, weapons raised, ready for a fight. Cry sighed a little, but all the same used her greatsword to block the swing of an axe that the woman tried to strike her with. She then spun around, thrusting the axe in the direction of Sulla, who growled in his throat and went to stab at her with his sword. Cry twisted out of the way just in time, sending her sword across his belly, before she faced the woman again, and stuck it into her chest.

Vilkas joined her as she was pulling the sword free again, and shook his head a little.

"If only people knew how to explain themselves, rather than just start fighting immediately," he said, sounding a bit disappointed.

"If only," Cry agreed, and then she nodded towards the device. "I think we need one of those lexicon things."

"Probably," Vilkas said. He moved behind her, opening her pack, and pulled both out, before walking over to the machine. Cry moved to the gate at the back of the space, and tested it. It was locked. She frowned at the lever just beyond it, wondering if it moved the floor like a platform, too, and if it would get them outside.

"Cry." She turned back to Vilkas, and saw that he'd placed one of the lexicons into the device. Doing so had caused the floor to sink around it, into stairs.

"Interesting," she commented, joining him. "Let's go down there, I guess."

He nodded towards the gate. "Did you try that?"

"I did. It's locked. I don't think I want to try my luck at two of them."

"Your choice," Vilkas said. "Downstairs?"

"Yeah," Cry said, breathing outwards. "Let's see where it takes us."

* * *

The stairs, and the door at the bottom, took them to what Cry knew had to have been Blackreach. The place was filled with an eerie tealish glow, and Falmer, and it was _huge._ She and Vilkas no doubt would have gotten lost, had they not had an instinctive sense of where to go. They had to fight Falmer along the way, but eventually, they reached a tower that led up out of Blackreach, and into a place that felt much more like Skyrim, again.

Or, at least, felt like a Dwemer ruin.

They walked through an empty room, and through a set of doors to the other side. They opened onto a golden mass, with a ramp leading up around it. They followed it to a platform that had a series of devices on top of it, each one with a teal button attached to it.

Cry frowned at it, knowing that there was a puzzle involved, and deciding that she did not want to solve it. She looked to Vilkas, hopeful, and he sighed, moving to stand beside her.

"This must go here," he said, and placed the other lexicon into the blank space of one of the devices. Immediately, the buttons glowed, and metal arms with stained glass built into the end of them shifted in the middle of the room, over the large golden thing that they'd walked into.

"Hm," Vilkas said, quietly. He hit two of the buttons, and rings moved over the golden mass, shifting in a way that Cry could not understand. Vilkas examined the middle pedestal, which seemed to Cry to have a constellation or something mapped out onto it. Vilkas appeared to read it for a moment, before looking at the middle of the room again. He hit one of the buttons a second time, and a third started to glow instead.

"There we are," he said, pleased, and hit that one. The metal arms moved into a new position, and he examined them for a moment, before hitting the button again. They moved once more, before the fourth button started to glow. Vilkas tapped that one with all the confidence of someone who'd just won a card game, and Cry watched in fascination as the metal arms moved out of the way completely, and a different device entirely came down from the ceiling. The teal gem in the center of it twisted until it was laying flat, and then popped open.

"Wow," Cry said, impressed and amazed. "How did you do that?"

Vilkas smirked at her. "Star maps," he said, gesturing to the pedestal he'd been reading. "Maybe not so worthwhile for a warrior, but for an intellectual?"

Cry let out a laugh, and walked down from the platform and across the golden mass to the teal gem. Her shoulders fell in relief when she saw that it had opened to reveal what had to be an Elder Scroll in the center of it.

"Yes," she said, under her breath, and she carefully lifted the Scroll from its cradle, surprised to find that it was _heavy._ She really shouldn't have been, though; the casing around it was metal.

"I can't believe it," she said, turning to face Vilkas, who'd come down to join her, holding the lexicon. "We found it!"

Vilkas nodded in agreement. "I'm glad we did," he said. "Hopefully, you can put it to use."

Cry nodded in agreement. "I hope so, too," she said. "Let's get out of here."

They did as she suggested, having to cut back across Blackreach in order to return to the same area that they'd come from. Once they reached the top, Vilkas had the right idea to search the bodies of the people that Cry had had to kill, and he found a key that unlocked the gate she'd tested before.

The level raised the platform up for what felt like forever, but when Cry realized that she could fresh air, she decided it was worth the wait. They pushed their way through the gate at the top, and she breathed in, spreading her arms in relief, despite the fact that it was still snowing.

Vilkas peered over the distance, a hand over his eyes to block out the light from the coming dawn. "I wonder how far out we are from the real entrance," he commented.

"Probably pretty damn far," Cry replied, joining him. "We were underground almost all night." He turned to look at her, and she cocked an eyebrow at his expression. "What?"

In response, he reached up and cradled her jaw in his hands, before pressing a kiss to her mouth. Cry closed her eyes, winding her arms around his waist, and smiling into the kiss. After a moment, Vilkas pulled back, and traced his thumb over her cheek.

"I love you," he said, softly, meeting her gaze.

"I love you too," Cry replied. "But what's with the intensity?"

Vilkas inhaled, and Cry was surprised to hear how shaky the sound was. She furrowed her brows as he let go of her, and walked away a few steps, staring at the ground. "Vilkas?" she prompted.

"It -" He took a moment, his eyes closing, before he turned to her again. "You're going to take that thing to High Hrothgar, possibly use it to go back in time to learn a Shout that was born out of hatred and anger. The next time I see you, you could be completely different, or you could have fought Alduin, and it -"

"Vilkas," Cry said, gently, cutting him off. She walked closer to where he was, and took his hands in hers. "Hey, I already told you before that it's going to be all right."

"I know," he replied, "but I - the thought of it, that I can't be there with you -"

"I think you were with me through the hardest part that I could've taken someone with me on," Cry assured him. "In the end, killing Alduin is my job; I'm probably going to have to do the rest on my own." She managed a smile for him, squeezing his hands. "But I'm so grateful that you helped me with everything so far. You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did," Vilkas said. "I never would have let you do this alone, knowing that I could help." He moved closer to her, and Cry slid her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He did the same, pressing his face into her hair for a moment. "You're going to go alone to High Hrothgar, I'm guessing."

"I've been on my own plenty of times, Vilkas," Cry said. "I practically grew up on my own. I'll be fine."

"I worry," he said.

"I know you do, and I appreciate that," Cry told him.

"What if something happens, and no one knows to tell us?" he asked, his brow creasing, and Cry sighed, pulling back so that she could look at him.

"Nothing is going to happen to me, Vilkas," she said, gently. "I'll be perfectly safe." When Vilkas merely continued to gaze at her in worry, she leaned up and kissed him again. "I'll come back as soon as I can, I promise."

"But you have no idea as to how long that might be," Vilkas said, and she shook her head. He exhaled, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "At least come with me back to Winterhold. We could both use some rest. From there, I'll return the lexicon to Signus, and you can head back to Ivarstead."

Cry smiled, and nodded. "I think that's a great plan," she said. "Let's go."


	36. Chapter 34: Dragonrend

They parted in Winterhold, as Vilkas had suggested. He wanted Cry to sleep, to recover from the injuries she'd sustained in the Dwemer ruin, but she knew that if she slept, she'd wake up at nightfall, and it'd be too late to get a carriage. Vilkas relented only when she assured him that she'd rent a room in Ivarstead and rest before heading up the 7000 Steps, which she had no intention of doing, and didn't do, either.

Once the carriage reached Ivarstead, she jumped off, and headed immediately for the other end of the village, for the Steps, and she started up them. It was dangerous, she knew, what with darkness falling, but she wanted to get up the mountain, and get the whole thing over with.

She should have known that Arngeir wouldn't have that, though.

"Absolutely not," he said, when she reached High Hrothgar, and told him her intentions, showing off the Elder Scroll for proof. "It is pitch black outside, and the path to Paarthurnax is dangerous enough in the daylight." When Cry moved to voice her argument, he shook his head in response. "No. I won't have it. You will rest here tonight, and then at first light, if you must, you may head up the mountain."

Cry groaned, but knew that she wouldn't be able to convince him, no matter what he said. She also knew that, somehow, he'd know if she tried to sneak out once she thought all the Greybeards were asleep, and so she squashed that idea before it could really form in her head, and following Arngeir glumly down the hall to a spare room that she'd never seen before. It had a cot against one wall, and a small table in the opposite corner.

"Sit," Arngeir said. "I will bring you some food."

"You don't have to," Cry said.

"Nonsense," he retorted, and disappeared before she could say anything else.

Cry sighed, but all the same sank down onto the edge of the bed and tugged off her boots. She then started on her armor, knowing that Arngeir was acting like this because he felt bad about their last interaction. She hoped he knew that there were no hard feelings, especially since she'd managed to find the Elder Scroll.

After a few minutes, Arngeir came back, holding a tray of food. He set it down on the table, and Cry shuffled over to it, sitting down in a chair there.

"Who cooks out of the four of you?" she asked, admiring how hearty the soup that he'd brought appeared to be.

"Master Borri," Arngeir replied. "You'll stay?"

"Yes," Cry said. She looked up at him, and offered him a smile. "Thank you, Master Arngeir."

He merely shook his head. "I do what I can, Dragonborn," he said, and then he walked out of the room again, closing the door behind him. Cry looked down at the soup in front of her, and smiled again, before digging in. She _was_ hungry.

When she was done eating, she left the dishes on the tray, and moved back to the cot. She settled down on it, huffing a little at how stiff it was, but decided it was better than sleeping on the floor. It didn't matter, not really, since she never found herself well rested anymore anyway.

She closed her eyes, and fell asleep within minutes. Her dreams were as they always were, racing through darkened woods from the perspective of a wolf, and she was the wolf. The smell of prey all around her, confusing her senses, making it hard to decipher where to run next. There were so many choices. She woke up more than once from sounds within her dream and without, dragon roars and wolf howls and wind blowing. Overall, it wasn't a peaceful night by any means.

She was relieved, then, when the sun made its first appearance, and she was free to start up the path to where Paarthurnax made his home near the Time Wound. The dragon seemed to have been waiting for her; he perched on top of the Word Wall, as he had before, and watched as she approached, holding the Elder Scroll under one arm.

"You have it," he said, not sounding surprised or amazed, or even amused, which she'd come to expect of him. He simply sounded resigned. "The Kel - the Elder Scroll. _Tiid kreh… qalos._ Time shudders at its touch." He looked at her, instead of at the Elder Scroll she carried, and dipped his head. "There is no question. You are doom-driven. _Kogaan Akatosh._ The very bones of the earth are at your disposal."

He gestured with one wing, and Cry blinked when she realized that, in the rising dawn, she could see what appeared to be almost a _tear_ in the empty space before her. It glowed with a golden light.

"Go then," Paarthurnax invited. "Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound. Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs."

"Wait, wait, what?" Cry demanded, startling herself back to the present. The Time-Wound had drawn her towards it, almost hypnotically. "If I do this, Alduin is going to come here? And I'll have to fight him? Right now?"

"You knew this was a possibility," Paarthurnax commented. "The very Elder Scroll that banished him will be unraveled to reveal the scene that he was banished during." He cocked his head to the side. "You meant to say you did not consider that it would draw him to the very place that he was banished from?"

Cry exhaled, shakily. "I just - I didn't think I'd have to fight him right away," she murmured. "What if I don't even learn what I need to in order to beat him from the Elder Scroll, and he comes anyway? I'll be killed."

"You will have me on your side, _Dovahkiin,"_ Paarthurnax soothed. "You will be fine. This is your destiny."

Cry closed her eyes for a moment. He was right, she knew. This was what she was meant to do, and whatever happened next was part of it.

"All right," she said, and she raised the Elder Scroll to the Time-Wound.

The words written on the Scroll were not Common. She knew, inherently, that they were actually Dovahzul, and she was surprised to find that she could read them. They glowed, the light from the Time-Wound shining through the thick parchment of the Scroll. Cry had to lift one hand to shield her eyes, which forced her to let go of the Scroll. It dropped to her side, and when it did, she realized that she was in a different time, but the same place.

It was a battle. That much she could tell. There were two Nords within her line of sight, both attacking a dragon that was crouched in front of them, snapping. Cry tried to turn her head to see more of the scene, but was unable to, could only watch what was happening directly in front of her.

The two Nords killed the dragon, and met in front of the carcass. It was the first time Cry had seen a dragon die and not immediately eviscerate into only bone. It was kind of alarming.

"Gormlaith!" the male Nord shouted. "We're running out of time! The battle -"

He was cut off as another dragon landed nearby, and started to speak to them. The roar of the battle made it difficult for Cry to understand what it was saying. Still, it must have been a challenge, for the two Nords turned towards it, weapons raised.

"For Skyrim!" the male exclaimed.

Cry was impressed with how well the two Nords fought together. She wondered how long they'd been doing so, and was faintly reminded of herself and Vilkas, which brought a small smile to her face, but it was wiped away as soon as the female Nord, Gormlaith, stick her blade straight into the dragon's mouth, up through its snout. She pulled it free, shouting, "Know that Gormlaith sent you down to your death!"

Cry was amazed. This Nord was who she wanted to be when she grew up.

She backed away from the dead dragon, grinning widely at her companion. "Hakon! A glorious day, is it not?"

"Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade?" Hakon demanded.

"What else is there?" Gormlaith exclaimed.

Hakon shook his head. "The battle below goes ill. If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost."

Gormlaith waved her hand dismissively. "You worry too much, brother. Victory will be ours."

Hakon looked to the sky, holding a hand against his brow to shield his eyes from the sun. "Why does Alduin hang back?" he asked, mostly to himself. "We've staked everything on this plan of yours, old man."

A third figure, dressed in a rob, came into Cry's field of vision. "He will come," he assured the other two. "He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?"

"We've bloodied him well," Gormlaith said, gleefully. Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day."

"But none have yet stood against Alduin himself. Galthor, Sorri, Birkir…" The old man shook his head.

"They did not have Dragonrend," Gormlaith said, and Cry immediately started to pay more attention. "Once we bring him down, I promise I will have his head!"

"You do not understand," the old man said. "Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength. Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll."

Hakon immediately took a few steps backwards, away from him. "Felldir, we agreed not to use it!" he said.

"I never agreed," Felldir said, calmly. "And if you are right, I will not need it."

"No," Hakon said with a shake of his head. "We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now."

"We shall see soon enough," Gormlaith said, and she pointed. "Alduin approaches."

"So be it," Hakon said, resolved, and the three of them formed a semi-circle, in front of where a large black dragon that Cry was very familiar with by this point was landing.

_"Meyye!"_ Alduin said. _"Tahrodiis aanne! Him hinde pah liiv! Zu'u hin daan!"_

"Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!" Gormlaith cheered, as Alduin once more took to the sky.

Cry watched in fascination as the three Nords drew closer together, and felt her chest grow warm with the heat of rage and the love of battle as they Shouted, as one: _"Joor… Zah Frul!"_

_Joor Zah Frul,_ Cry repeated to herself, feeling the anger, the hatred, that fueled the Shout in her very core as she memorized the words, memorized their meanings. The three Nords had invented a Shout that made dragons mortal. Temporarily, but mortal nonetheless.

_He's so done,_ she thought, a grin growing on her face.

It was true, too, for Alduin was immediately forced to land, as though something was bounding him to the ground. He roared, angrily, his head thrashing.

_"Nivahriin joorre!"_ he cried. "What have you done? What twisted Words have you created? _Tahrodiis_ Paarthurnax! My teeth to his neck!" He glowered at the three Nords, his red eyes glowing. "But first… _dir ko maar._ You will die in terror, knowing your final fate… to feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!"

"If I die today, it will not be in terror," Gormlaith informed him. "You feel fear for the first time, worm. I see it in your eyes."

Felldir Shouted something familiar while Gormlaith charged straight for Alduin, who bared his teeth. "Skyrim will be free!" she cried.

Cry watched, terrified and amazed, as the three Nords fought with Alduin. Hakon moved around to the dragon's side to attack from there, while Felldir continued to throw Shouts from where he stood, and Gormlaith fought teeth-to-teeth. Unfortunately, that put her in the most precarious position, and Cry was not surprised when Alduin snatched his jaws around her, crushing her ribcage, and everything it protected, inward, before tossing her aside, dead.

Felldir watched his companion die, and Cry saw his resolve set in. She watched as he pulled out a familiar shape from his robes, and held it up.

"Hold, Alduin on the Wing!" he shouted. "Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!"

The Elder Scroll began to grow with bright light, and Alduin turned away from fighting with Hakon to blink into it.

_"Fael Kell…?"_ The dragon's eyes narrowed as he realized what was happening, as the light ensnared him further. _"Niikriinne…"_

"You are banished!" Felldir repeated, his voice trembling with the power he held.

Cry had to close her eyes as the light grew to be too blinding. When she opened them again, Alduin was gone.

"It worked." She looked at Hakon, who was cradling his side, and limping towards Felldir. "You did it."

"Yes, the World-Eater is gone," Felldir replied, his voice low. "May the spirits have mercy on our souls."

Wind rushed past Cry's ears, then, and she experienced a foul jerking motion as she was tugged forward in time once more. She stumbled, and landed on her knees in the snow, bracing her hands against the ground. She coughed as human sensations returned to her, and she lifted her head, feeling very weak, all of a sudden.

Paarthurnax was where he had been atop the Word Wall. He was not looking at her, however, and when Cry followed his line of sight, her stomach twisted, and she was certain she was going to vomit.

Alduin hovered near the summit, wings flapping, creating a dramatic background sound to the whole affair. It was loud enough to be heard over the wind.

_"Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor,"_ he began, and Cry scowled. "My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, _Dovahkiin._ Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

He gained altitude, and Paarthurnax took to the air as well, calling down to her, _"Dovahkiin!_ Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

Oh, she knew it, and right about now, she was feeling the right amount of rage she thought she needed to properly power it, too. She focused on the newest Shout in her repetoire, feeling it burn harshly in her chest, and she directed it towards the black dragon that was circling the peak: _"Joor… Zah Frul!"_

The light blue energy that emerged with the Shout enveloped Alduin. The dragon roared, angrily, and twisted in the air as he was forced to land on the mountain. From above, Paarthurnax rained fire, while Cry sprinted towards Alduin, scraping her greatsword along the side of his snout. Alduin jerked his head, and whipped around to face her, readying a Shout of his own. Cry barely had time to dodge out of the way of a sheet of flames.

"You may have picked up the weapons of my ancient foe, but you are not their equal!" Alduin taunted her, and then he took to the sky again as the effects of Dragonrend waned.

_"Dovahkiin, vosaraan!"_ Paarthurnax called. "You must use Dragonrend before Alduin consumes you!"

"He's not eating me today," Cry decided, resolve setting in. She built up the power for another go at Dragonrend, and watched as Alduin had to land, again, clearly growing frustrated. Without hesitating, she raced up to where he was, dodging gnashing teeth and fire Shouts, and climbing up onto his back. She then thrust her greatsword down between his wings.

Alduin howled, and shook her off. Cry went flying, crashing into the Word Wall and landing in the snow with a cry of pain as something in her shoulder popped. She forced herself upright using her uninjured arm, and saw that Alduin was gazing at her, sides heaving.

_"Meyz mul, Dovahkiin,"_ he said, darkly. "You have become strong. But I am Al-du-in, firstborn of Akatosh! _Mulaagi zok lot!_ I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me. I will outlast you, mortal!"

Cry tried to force herself into a standing position, but found that she could not. In fact, her other arm gave out, and she collapsed once more into the snow as Alduin took the sky again. The last thing she saw was the large black dragon fading into the distance, before she let the darkness pain brought with it drown her.

* * *

She awoke sometime later, thirsty, her shoulder aching. It took her only a few seconds to realize where she was, and she forced herself into a sitting position.

"No, Dragonborn," a familiar voice said, and then Arngeir was standing in front of her, pressing lightly against one of her shoulders. "Lay back. You are still recovering."

"Alduin escaped," Cry managed, despite how dry her throat was. "I need -"

"Hush," Arngeir said, sternly, holding a cup to her lips. Cry drank down the water, greedily, and leaned back against the wall behind her. She was laying in the cot in the spare room that she'd slept in.

"I need to find out where he went," she said, completing her original thought.

Arngeir had walked away, and was fiddling with the healing supplies that were laid out on the table in the corner. "The old tales say that he is able to travel into Sovngarde to devour the souls of the dead, but they do not say how he does this."

Cry closed her eyes for a moment as she absorbed this information. After a moment, a bright light flickered on inside her head, the solution to this problem. Vilkas would be proud of how quickly she came up with it.

She opened her eyes again, and looked at Arngeir. "One of his dragon allies could tell us."

Arngeir straightened up and looked at her, his eyes bright. "Yes, of course!" he said. "But how to force a dragon to talk to you…?" He trailed off, considering, and then he sighed a little, his shoulders falling. "There is one possibility, but, no, the Jarl would never agree."

"You mean Dragonsreach," Cry said, thoughtfully, and Arngeir nodded. "It was constructed, originally, to hold a dragon captive." She considered this for a moment, and then nodded. "I could convince him. We're acquainted."

She made to stand, but gasped inward sharply as she tried to rotate her right shoulder, and was met with pain in response. Angeir sighed a little, in a _Honestly, how can someone be so idiotic_ sort of way.

"Dragonborn, you dislocated your shoulder," he told her. "You should avoid using it for at least two days."

"Two days?" Cry snorted, and stood up completely, without using her right arm. "Absolutely not. There's too much to do, too many dragons to stop.

"Dragonborn -"

"Thanks for the help, Arngeir," Cry said, moving past him out of the spare room and down the hall to the main room of High Hrothgar. Arngeir did not follow her, thankfully, leaving Cry to push her way outside in peace.

The sun was at its zenith. She had no idea how much time had passed since she'd fainted. She should have asked, but it was too late for that now. She needed to get down the mountain, and -

Well. She _needed_ to go to Sky Haven Temple, to tell Esbern and Delphine what was going on. But she also needed to stop in Whiterun, to reassure Vilkas that she was alive.

_Shit._ She hadn't been kidding; there was too much to do.

She made her way down the mountain, doing her best not to think too hard about any one thing. Almost as soon as she reached the bottom, a courier raced up to her.

"Cry Silverworthy?" he prompted, and she nodded. He produced a small piece of parchment, and offered it to her. It was sealed with the Blades' stamp.

"Thank you," she said, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. There could be any number of things written in the letter, but she had a feeling she knew what it was.

She unsnapped the seal, and unfolded the letter. The handwriting was Delphine's.

_Dragonborn,_

_We have heard about your adventures with the Greybeards, and their leader. I imagine that they did not tell you this, but Paarthurnax served as Aluduin's right-hand, during the time of his cult, and the Dragon War. He committed many atrocities, and deserves to be punished for them._

_We must talk about these punishments. Soon. Come to Sky Haven Temple as soon as you receive this._

Cry sighed, and folded the parchment over again. She supposed she knew where she was going first.


	37. Chapter 35: A Spiritual Interference

**Hey. So there's, like seven chapters left at this point, which means I'm gonna post twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays (America time), and once on a mystery Sunday (America time) that I haven't decided yet, so keep an eye out. **

**Also, this chapter has a companion chapter over in _A Collection of Stories,_ so if you haven't checked that out, and want to know more, I'd suggest heading there. **

**That's all from me. See you again Thursday.**

* * *

Mumbling to herself about Markarth and Forsworn and sabrecats, Cry made her way down the stone road through the hilly Reach of Skyrim, doing her best to keep from tripping over every bump in the path.

She was returning to Sky Haven Temple, per Delphine's request, to talk about Paarthurnax's _punishments,_ which she was sure was a euphemism for death. She needed to tell the Blades that she had no intention of killing the dragon that had once fought on the side of the enemy, but was now the very opposite of what a dragon should be. She'd had only one conversation with him, but she'd gathered what she needed to know from it. Paarthurnax was not a danger; he had worked hard to separate himself from a dragon's normal way of living.

He did not deserve to die, and she was going to make Delphine and Esbern see reason, despite knowing that she needed to return to Whiterun as soon as she could, to capture a dragon that would tell her where Alduin had gone.

If she was being honest with herself, she would have admitted to going to see the Blades before capturing the dragon because she was terrified by _the idea_ of capturing the dragon.

So, there she was, the mighty Dragonborn, shuffling along the road at the speed of a horker because of the fading light, so she wouldn't needlessly injure herself. What a brave, desirable sight she must have made just then.

Cry stepped around another rock in her way, grunting as she did so. How many stray boulders could there possibly be on one road?

A sound to the right of her made her freeze, her internal cursing silencing. She strained her ears, waiting for the noise again, or at least another noise that would signify she _had_ heard something.

Instead of hearing a noise, the Dragonborn was knocked to the ground by a flash of magefire.

Cry let out a panicked yelp as she hit the hard stones, and she reached over and cupped her burnt right shoulder with her left hand in order to protect it from further damage. She then rolled to the left, barely avoiding yet another flash of fire that was sent in her direction.

Scrambling to her feet, Cry didn't even bother trying to see what was attacking her. She raced away from the assailant, running as fast as her legs could take her down the road, huffing and puffing. Her arm felt like it was still on fire, and, as she ducked behind a huge rock on the side of the road, she removed her fingers from the burn to inspect the damage.

Her entire right shoulder was burnt black. Red lacerations covered it as well, places where the fire had gone straight through her skin. To top it all, it _hurt._

"Divines," Cry muttered, and then froze when she heard the same noise as before come from the other side of the rock she was hidden behind. Before, she hadn't been able to discern the sound, her other thoughts having taken precedent over recognition. Now, however, she realized she knew exactly what the sound was, and it sent a chill through her entire body, even into her burnt shoulder.

_Hagraven._

She'd only fought the evil, witch-creatures once, and it was not a fight she liked to remember. She'd sustained more than one injury from the battle, including a burn similar to the one now on her shoulder, and she was not looking forward to receiving more.

The sound came again, and Cry stiffened, leaning back against the rock, her left hand returning to her shoulder. Her mind whirred, trying to make sense of the situation and come up with a solution at the same time, which it did, in a matter of two seconds.

Cry had only one choice if she wanted to get away, and ensure the Hagraven didn't follow her.

Inhaling, Cry prepared herself, and then stepped out from behind the rock. The Hagraven was skulking only two feet away, and she let out a croaking yell when she saw Cry.

Fire burned in the Dragonborn's chest as fire burned on the tips of the Hagraven's gnarled fingers.

_"Yol!"_

A burst of flame blew out of Cry's mouth and hit the witch. The Hagraven screeched as she flew backwards into a tree on the side of the road. Cry wasted no time in turning tail and running away as fast as she could up the road, leaving the burning Hagraven behind her.

Cry ran until she could run no longer. She slowly came to a stop, and leaned over, her breathing irregular. She struggled to get it back, straightening up and inhaling the night air as deeply as she could. Her shoulder was stinging like no other, and Cry knew she needed to get a health potion into her system to help heal it. It probably didn't help, either, that she'd only two days before recovered from dislocating the very same shoulder.

She crouched down in the center of the road, gently reaching up to pull her pack off of her shoulders. She rooted around in it for a moment with her left hand, and quickly found a bottle. She was pulling it out when she was suddenly kicked from behind, and sent into a puddle on the road a few inches away from her bag.

The Dragonborn let out a groan; she'd landed on her injured shoulder. She'd heard her greatsword clatter to the stones somewhere nearby, and she did her best to glance around for it before she was kicked at again, this time held to the road so that she couldn't move. A sharp stab struck her side, and she let out a pain-wracked scream at the sensation.

"This is Forsworn territory," a gruff voice told her, as the stabbing happened again, only in reverse. Cry blinked blurry, tear-filled eyes, and watched the boots of a Briarheart as he stalked away from her down the road.

She had been left for dead.

The realization of this caused a strange bubble of amused hysteria to rise in her chest, and, if she hadn't been in so much pain, she probably would have laughed.

Cry decided that she needed to at least get out of the middle of the road. When she tried to move, even the slightest, however, she found that she was incapable.

_I can't move._

Instead of amused hysteria, this time it was only hysteria. Cry started to panic.

_No, no, I can't die. I haven't fulfilled my destiny yet. I must kill Alduin._

She could feel a warm liquid pooling beneath her side, where the stabbing sensation had been the worst. The Briarheart must have sent his weapon straight through her.

Cry was going to die.

She struggled to turn her head to the side, so that her face wasn't pressed directly into the stone road. If she was going to die, without having fulfilled her destiny, she could at least do it in a more comfortable position.

How comfortable could she get, though, really? With a burnt shoulder and an injury that was going to lead to her bleeding out, was comfort really a thing she could experience just then?

Frustration mingled with disappointment as she realized just how she'd gotten to this position. She had been so worried about getting her barely injured shoulder healed that she'd been snuck up on.

Vilkas would be furious. So would Aela. Farkas would shake his head, and Skjor would've insulted her, calling her an 'insolent whelp', or something similar.

She missed Skjor. And Kodlak. She missed the Companions. She wished they were there with her, although, at the same time, she didn't, because she knew they'd only be upset with what she'd done.

Some Harbinger/Dragonborn she was, killed off by a Hagraven and a Briarheart in the middle of the Reach. She had a feeling that any songs sung about her would only be tunes about her pitiful death, and not of her great feats.

Not that there were many.

_It's poetic, actually. Death by the very people you were trying to escape from only ten years ago._

She managed a chortle. So much for revenge on the Reachmen for what they'd done to her parents.

She could hear the rushing waters of the river nearby that ran from the bottom of the Reach to the top. She had fond memories of that river, skipping stones across it as a child when her parents would take her and her sister on trips into Markarth. The city had been nicer then, less dirty and corrupt.

Cry focused on the sounds of the river, finding herself humming along with it. It did resemble music, in a way. She wondered if a bard had ever attempted to do that, to write a song that mimicked the sound of water. If she decided not to die in the middle of the road, she'd have to see about it.

Her eyes had closed, but she only realized it when she opened them again. It was only possible to do so for a moment or two, before they drooped and had to shut once more.

_Can I really be bleeding out that quickly?_ she thought in amazement. _The Gods really do want me to die, don't they?_

She chose to laugh at this thought, and she coughed immediately afterwards. The kicks that the Briarheart had hit her with must have broken a rib or two.

The pool of blood, which had been progressively getting bigger and stickier, had spread out beyond her side and was thickening beneath her belly and near her thighs. Cry could feel it, and was slightly disgusted. Her armor was going to be ruined.

_Is that really all you can think about? Your armor?_

The dry thought-question reminded her of Skjor, and Cry once again felt sad.

Her eyes drifted shut again, and this time, stayed shut. She found herself wandering her mind, and she came face to face with the dragon inside of her. The beast was asleep, smoke billowing out of its nostrils with every breath it took. Cry reached out and pressed a hand to its dark red scales, which were warm to the touch.

_I'm sorry,_ she apologized to it. _I've failed. The gift you gave me will never be used again._

The dragon didn't even stir. Cry wondered for a moment of it was a metaphor for her body's own position and state.

She decided that the dragon looked a lot more peaceful than she felt.

That was a lie, though. She did feel oddly calm, despite knowing her situation was dire. Unable to move meant she couldn't crawl to her bag and get a potion. No potion meant no healing, and nonhealing meant death.

Cry was basically already dead, if she thought all the way through it.

In her head, the dragon had disappeared and her mind was now a division between darkness and light. She found herself walking the edge of it, listening as the light whispered sweet words to her, humming the same song as the river near where she physically lay. It was a beautiful song, a silent song, and Cry followed down the division line, listening.

She was at peace.

_"Cry,"_ a voice within the light said. She stopped walking and turned to face it, feeling as though she knew the voice.

Indeed, Kodlak stepped out of the light, pausing just before he reached her. Cry grinned when she saw him.

"You made it," she said.

_"I did,"_ the old Harbinger responded, returning the smile. _"Thanks to you, of course."_

"How's everything on the other side?" Cry asked him. "Is Shor's Hall as beautiful as they say?"

Kodlak's smile disappeared. _"I have not been to Shor's Hall,"_ he told her.

"What? Why?" Cry demanded.

"_Sovngarde is shrouded in mist,"_ Kodlak explained. _"I cannot see through it. You must leave this place, Dragonborn."_

"But, Kodlak, if I come with you, we can find our way through the mist together," Cry insisted, finding she had no desire to do as Kodlak suggested. "We'll help one another reach Shor's Hall."

Kodlak merely shook his head. _"You must return to the world of the living, Cry. The Companions need you, as does Skyrim, and all of Tamriel. Only you can help them."_ He smiled again. _"Someday, we will feast together in Shor's Hall, but for now, you must leave."_

Cry knew he was right. She had a task to complete. Still…

"What about you?"

"_I'll find my way soon enough,"_ Kodlak promised. _"After all, if I had already been there, I wouldn't have been able to come talk to you, and to send for help for you."_

Cry frowned. "Send for help? What do you mean?"

Kodlak simply shook his head. _"You'll find out on your own when you return,"_ he told her. _"Go now, Cry, before you lose your chance."_

"All right," she sighed. "I'll go." She blinked. "How?"

As a response, light gleamed from the darker side of the divide, and she turned around to face it. Almost at once, she was enveloped by it, and the divide disappeared.

* * *

Cry's eyes opened.

She was immediately aware that she was laying somewhere soft.

At first, she couldn't understand how, considering she'd been dying on the road to Markarth what felt like three minutes prior. After a few seconds, she registered that someone must've found her, stopped her from dying, and then brought her to the soft place. Whoever it had been, she didn't know, but she was grateful.

Another minute passed, during which she registered the smell of a burning candle, and something else she recognized, something that reminded her of home. She forced her eyes to open, and discovered she was laying in her bed in Jorrvaskr. The candle she'd smelt sat on the bedside table, and the source of the other smell she'd locked onto was asleep in a chair next to the bed.

Cry's expression softened as she took Vilkas in. She'd seen him rather recently, but she'd missed him an awful lot. She briefly wondered if that was what love was; missing someone even when you'd seen them hours before. Obviously, she hadn't seen Vilkas hours before, but she imagined it was the same basic principle.

She watched him for a moment, wanting him to awaken but also wanting him to get some sleep, especially if he'd been up for hours tending to her and her injuries. Although she was in pain, and desperately needed a potion, she wanted him to get some more rest.

She glanced at the other bedside table, and was relieved to find a potion sitting there. Carefully, she started to reach for it, but almost immediately her injury flared up in anger, and she let out a noise, shocked by how badly it hurt.

Her sound woke Vilkas, whose chair legs hit the floor hard as he started. He rubbed at his eyes, and then looked over at her. Seeing what she was trying to do, he sighed and stood, walking around the bed to retrieve the potion for her. Once she had it in her hand, he leaned back and watched her drink it. Cry did her best not to look guilty as she did so.

All the same, his narrowed eyes eventually got to her. She smacked her hand down on the bed. "I was snuck up on!" Her injury complained, again, despite the potion she had just taken, and Vilkas shook his head at her.

"I don't want to hear it," he said. "What I want is for you to heal, all right?"

Relieved by his lack of anger, Cry blinked up at him, gratefully. She realized she had relaxed too soon, however, when Vilkas let out a huff of air, unable to hide his frustration for even longer than a minute.

"I feared something like this would happen," he began.

"Divines," Cry sighed, closing her eyes to wait for the rage to pass.

"I did!" Vilkas said, his voice rising. "I talked about it, at length, and you wouldn't hear any of it. "Oh, I've been on my own plenty of times, Vilkas. I'll be perfectly safe, Vilkas. Nothing is going to happen to me, Vilkas!"" He spat his name out, and Cry's own temper flared.

She opened her eyes and glared up at him. "Listen -"

"No, _you_ listen!" Vilkas interrupted, and Cry's mouth snapped shut. "You were practically dead! Aela and I found you lying in a pool of your own blood! You were the same color as snow! I -" He cut off suddenly, and pressed a hand to his eyes. Cry refused to speak, however, and waited for him to continue.

He did so, after a moment, and a shaky inhalation of air. His hand lowered, and his head bowed. When he spoke, his voice was soft, broken: "When I saw you like that… you tore my guts out, Cry."

Cry's anger immediately faded, and she suddenly, very desperately, wanted to get up and go to him, but she couldn't. Instead, she held her hand out to him. Vilkas, seeing this, settled down on the edge of the bed, and Cry reached for him. She was able to touch one of his shoulders, enough to turn him in her direction.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Vilkas." He didn't look at her, and she cupped one of his cheeks in her hand. "Forgive me."

Vilkas lifted his gaze, and after a moment of searching her eyes, he managed a weak smile. "Forgiven," he said, softly. "I'm… I'm sorry, too. I said more than I meant." He glanced downwards again. "Will you forgive me, too?"

Cry smiled at him. "Forgiven," she murmured, and Vilkas wrapped a gentle arm around her in order to pull her against his chest. His hand drifted to her hair, and he stroked it, hiding his face against the top of her head. They sat like that for a few minutes, the fight that they'd had suddenly unimportant, to either of them.

Cry had closed her eyes, and her brows drew together as she remembered her dream. "I had thought that…" She trailed off, and then exhaled. "Never mind."

"What is it?" Vilkas asked her, allowing her to pull away, slightly, and she lifted her gaze to his.

"I… I think I did die," she said, softly. "Kodlak sent me back."

Vilkas frowned at her. "When Aela and I found you, you had bandages on your wounds," he said, slowly. "We'd assumed that you managed to do that yourself, and then fainted from blood loss."

Cry shook her head. "I gave up," she said, suddenly feeling ashamed. "After the Briarheart stabbed me, I was sure I was done for. It definitely felt like I was done for, anyway. So I didn't even bother trying to bandage my wounds, or taking a potion, because… it seemed useless."

That clearly bothered Vilkas, going by the way he shifted, but she didn't say anything else. After a moment, he said, "Well, someone saved your life. We probably won't ever know who it was, but… they did. So, clearly, you're meant to be here."

That gave Cry cause to smile, but then she frowned almost immediately, remembering what task awaited her next. Vilkas noticed this, and he nudged her.

"Cry? What is it?"

"I have to capture a dragon at Dragonsreach."

"Sorry?" Vilkas questioned after a brief moment of stunned silence, and Cry let out a breath.

"You heard me." She met his gaze. "I need to know where Alduin went, after my fight with him on the Throat of the World."

"Wait, you already fought the dragon?"

"Yes, after I used the Elder Scroll, to learn Dragonrend," Cry said, "and I won, but -"

"You've fought the dragon, and you _won,_ but there's still more that has to be done?"

"Yes," Cry said again. "I didn't _kill_ him, Vilkas. I just chased him off. He's weak, now, though, recovering from our fight, and I need to find him while he's doing so, before he can recover his full strength." Vilkas shook his head, and Cry let out a breath. "I know, it's not fair, but it - I need to finish this, Vilkas. For good.

He looked at her again, his expression full of worry and frustration. "I just don't understand why there's more to this," he said. "You learned Dragonrend, and you used it to defeat him in battle. It should be over."

Cry managed a smile. "The Nords that used Dragonrend against him the first time didn't kill him, either," she said. "That's the step I need to take, to make sure this ends."

Vilkas studied her for a long moment, before he sighed a little. "Fine," he said. "Then I'll help you get wherever you need to, to reach that final step."

Cry relaxed, and she did her best to tug him closer, so that she could kiss him. Thankfully, Vilkas met her more than halfway, since she couldn't do much. When they pulled apart again, he left his forehead against hers, and Cry traced the line of his stubble with her thumb for a moment.

"I need to talk to Lydia," she said, eventually.

"Why's that?" Vilkas asked.

"I need her to take a message to the Blades," Cry said. "I was on my way to talk to them when I was attacked." She pulled away again, so that she could look at him properly. "Will you go get her for me? She should be at Breezehome." Guilt pressed down on her chest. "I haven't checked in on her lately. She must be going insane without anything to do."

"Then she should appreciate this job you're going to give her," Vilkas said. He stood up. "Do you think you can write your message?"

"Too dangerous," Cry said, shaking her head. "Lydia will remember it."

Vilkas nodded, and he started for the door. "I'll go ask her to come back with me," he said. "I'll have Tilma bring you down something to eat."

"Thank you," Cry said, and he made to leave the room. "Vilkas." He paused, and glanced back at her. "I love you."

Vilkas smiled a bit. "I love you too," he assured, and then he exited through the doors, leaving them ajar.

A few minutes later, Tilma appeared with a tray of food. She talked Cry's ear off as she helped arrange her position so that she could eat without choking, telling her all that had happened at Jorrvaskr in her absence. Cry mollified her with her responses of "Uh-huh," and interested hums, although she was much more interested in the food Tilma had brought her.

Eventually, Tilma left, only to be replaced by Farkas, who lifted an eyebrow, in what seemed to be a condescending way. Cry made a face at him in response.

"I don't want to hear it."

"I know," Farkas answered, walking around the bed to take Vilkas's chair, "but I'm going to say it anyway." He cleared his throat, and then looked at her, making sure to emphasize each word as he spoke them: "I told you so."

Cry sighed, and spooned up some stew so that she could pretend she wasn't listening. Farkas chuckled. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine," Cry said. "I mean, everything hurts, but relatively speaking."

"Is there anything I can do?" Farkas queried, and Cry shook her head.

"I don't think so." She glanced at him. "Will you help me capture a dragon?"

Farkas furrowed his brow. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"No," Cry said. "If it was, I don't think it'd be a very good one." She smiled a little, and set down her spoon. "I fought Alduin, the big bad dragon that I need to kill to completely end this? But he got away, before I could do that, and we think he went to Sovngarde."

"Sovngarde?" She nodded. "But that's where heroic Nords go when they die."

"I know," Cry said. "He feeds on their souls, to fuel his power."

"Yikes."

"Yeah," Cry agreed. "So, we need to capture a dragon, and find out if they have any idea as to how Alduin _gets_ to Sovngarde." She hesitated, and then said, "So that I can go there after him."

"Wait, so _you're_ going to go to Sovngarde too? Before you die?" Farkas asked, disbelieving.

"I think I might have to," Cry said. "I need to catch him, while he's still recovering from our last fight, so that he isn't back up to full strength."

"But, wouldn't you going there… be strange?" Farkas questioned. "I mean, you'll still be alive, but you'll be in the place where the spirits of the dead reside."

"I know," Cry said. "I don't really know how it's going to affect… well, anything. But it's what I'll have to do."

"You didn't tell _me_ that." They both turned towards the door of the room, and saw Vilkas standing there, Lydia behind him. He walked further into the room, moving around to the other side of the bed, and sitting down on the edge of it. "Cry."

"I know," she said, quietly. "I was going to mention that it might be where this all leads, but… only after we know for sure that this is going to work at all." She looked past him, towards Lydia, who'd approached the end of the bed. "I've neglected your services, Lydia. For that, I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Do not worry, my thane," she said. "Vilkas said that you have a job for me, now."

"I do," Cry said. "I need you to travel to Sky Haven Temple, in Markarth," she said. "Esbern and Delphine are there, and I need you to tell them what's going on."

"Which is?" Lydia prompted, crossing her arms, and Cry rehashed everything that had happened since they'd left Delphine and Esbern at Sky Haven Temple: the trip to High Hrothgar, meeting Paarthurnax, all of it. Lydia listened, and when Cry was done, said, "I probably don't need to tell them all of that, right? Just the important bits. Paarthurnax is good, the Elder Scroll worked, and now you need to capture a dragon so that you can get after Alduin."

Cry let out a laugh. "Yes, I suppose that covers it." She exhaled, and tilted her head a little. "You'll be all right?"

Lydia nodded, smiling a little. "Yes," she said. "I'll be glad to travel. It's been a while. I'll find them, tell them what they need to know."

"Thank you," Cry said.

"Of course," Lydia responded, dipping her head. "I will send a letter, once I have." She nodded to Vilkas and Farkas, and then she exited the room.

When she was gone, Cry turned back to Vilkas. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really should've told you everything, I know, but like I said, we can't be sure that a dragon will know how to reach Alduin, even if we _can_ capture one."

"I know," Vilkas replied. He reached over and covered her hand with his. "It's all right."

"It really isn't, I know," Cry said, "but thanks anyway." She looked down at her food, suddenly not as hungry as she was before. "How long before I can get up?"

"At least another day," Vilkas told her, firmly. "If you're to be believed, you _died,_ or at least got as close to death as you could've, and I'm not okay with the idea of you getting up and walking around at any point today."

"You died?" Farkas asked her, and Cry shrugged.

"Something close to it, I think."

"Wow," he said. "What was it like?"

"Not as great as it would have been, if everything in my life had been completely resolved."

"Huh."

"All right," Vilkas interrupted with a sigh. He stood again, and pointed to the food. "Eat. Then you should get more sleep. After that, we'll talk some more about how exactly to handle the next steps."

"Fine," Cry said, and she picked up her spoon again.

"Farkas, don't you have whelps to give jobs to?" Vilkas prompted, and Farkas sighed, but stood up, and shuffled for the door. Vilkas followed, looking back briefly at Cry, as though to make sure she was still in the bed, before he left as well, tugging the door shut behind him.


	38. Chapter 36: Making Plans

It took two days for Vilkas to let her go any further than the end of the living quarters hallway. Even then, he was right next to her as she climbed the stairs first to the main level, and then outside, where she paused in front of Jorrvaskr, examining Dragonsreach.

"We need to go there," she said after a moment. "To talk to Jarl Balgruuf about… the dragon."

"Do you think he'll agree to it? What with the war going on?" Vilkas asked, frowning, and Cry shrugged.

"We have to try. If not… we'll have to do something about that." Which she hated the idea of, because it no doubt meant having to talk to Ulfric Stormcloak about stopping the fight, for however long it would take to capture a dragon, and she didn't think he'd agree to that, no matter how close he was with her sister, and by collateral, her.

Vilkas glanced at her. "You're certain that this is the only way," he said, carefully.

"I am," Cry responded with a sigh. She turned to look at him instead. "I know it seems like a lot, but it's what has to happen." She reached out, and squeezed his arm. "It'll be fine, though."

"I'm sure you believe that," Vilkas murmured. He gestured towards Dragonsreach. "You want to head up there now?"

"Can we?" Cry asked, slightly surprised that he'd suggested it. "I thought you'd make me wait another month."

Vilkas smiled a little. "No," he said. "I know you wouldn't let me do that. And besides, the sooner we take care of this, the sooner you can fight Alduin, and the sooner things can go back to normal."

Cry snorted. "Normal. I doubt that."

"Why?" Vilkas queried.

"I'm the Dragonborn."

"Hm." Vilkas leaned over, slightly, nudged her with his shoulder. "I think that only makes life more exciting, and maybe that'll be our normal."

Cry smiled at him in response. "I appreciate the optimism." She let out a breath, and looked at Dragonsreach again. "Let's go talk to a jarl about using his palace to trap a dragon."

* * *

"I must have misheard you," Balgruuf said, frowning down at Cry from where he sat in his throne. "I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace."

"You heard right," Cry said. "I'm pretty sure that it's the only way to stop the dragons."

Balgruuf scoffed, and shook his head. "What you're asking for is insane. Impossible! You want me to let a dragon into the heart of the city, with the threat of war on my doorstep?"

"The threat of dragons is worse than the threat of war," Cry assured him. "Alduin has returned."

Balgruuf's eyes went wide. "Alduin? The World-Eater himself?" He blinked a few times, looking down at his lap. "But, how can we fight him? Doesn't his return mean it's the end times?"

Cry let out a breath. She _needed_ to convince him to help her, because if she couldn't, this would never end.

"It's only hopeless if we give up," she said, evenly, looking at him.

Balgruuf lifted his gaze again, and met hers. After a very long moment, he smiled a little. "I didn't say anything about giving up," he said. Cry's shoulders dropped in relief, and he leaned back in his throne. "So, explain to me what this nonsense is about trapping a dragon in my palace."

"It's the only way to find Alduin before it's too late," Cry told him. "I need to speak with a dragon, and find out how Alduin gets to his hideout, where he's able to travel from this realm to Sovngarde."

Balgruuf sighed, heavily. "I want to help you, Dragonborn. And I will. But I need your help, first."

_Of course._ Cry had been expecting this.

"Ulfric and General Tullius are both just waiting for me to make a wrong move," Balgruuf continued. "Do you think they will sit idle as a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city?" He shook his head. "No. I can't risk weakening the city while we are under the threat of enemy attack. I'm sorry."

Cry took a deep breath. "What if you didn't need to worry about an attack?"

"Then, obviously, I would be glad to help you with your mad dragon-trapping scheme. But getting both sides to agree to a truce will be difficult at this point. The bitterness has gone too deep." He was silent for a moment, and Cry was as well, knowing that he was right. She didn't know how she'd convince either general to stop the war.

Thankfully, however, Balgruuf seemed to have a solution. "What of the Greybeards?" he asked, and Cry looked up at him again. "They are respected by all Nords. High Hrothgar is neutral territory. If the Greybeards are willing to host a peace council, then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen."

Cry nodded in agreement, liking the way the plan sounded. "Leave that to me," she said. "I'll talk to the head Greybeard about hosting that peace council."

"Aye, Dragonborn," Balgruuf said with a small nod. "Maybe you can stop the dragons, and toss this war into the bargain."

Cry smiled, and dipped her head. "Thank you, Jarl Balgruuf," she said. "I won't ever forget all your help."

"Whiterun owes you a debt," Balgruuf replied. "If helping you capture a dragon will ensure that you can stop the dragons for good, then I see no reason not to."

"I'll let you know what the Greybeards decide," Cry said, and then she turned and walked away, down the main hall to the large doors of the palace.

Vilkas waited there, and he straightened up when he saw her approaching. "So?" he prompted.

"I need to talk to Arngeir about holding a peace council, to try and put a stop to the war," she said, as two guards opened the doors for them, and they made their way outside. "You were right; he doesn't want to risk a dragon attack on his city while both sides are searching to take Whiterun."

"So we need to travel to High Hrothgar again," Vilkas concluded, and Cry nodded. He sighed. "I'm beginning to think that being Dragonborn is just a lot of legwork."

Cry chortled. "You wouldn't be wrong. We should leave as soon as we can."

"Cry." She paused, and turned to face him. Vilkas's shoulders fell. "Do you need me to do anything for you? I - I'm worried that you're exhausting yourself, and that might be part of the reason why a hagraven and a Forsworn got the better of you, when I know that you're more skilled in battle than that."

Cry glanced between his eyes for a moment, before she looked down at her boots. "I'm… I've been better," she admitted, quietly. "But it - I can't exactly take a break. I've already been delayed two days, and it -"

"Cry, you basically bled to death," Vilkas told her. "I don't think anyone can fault you for needing to recover from that." She didn't respond, and he reached out, placing a hand on the back of her neck, to tug her closer to him. She ended up with her face pressed against his shoulder. "I want to help you," he murmured. "Let me, when I can."

"I am," Cry said. "Really. I know it doesn't seem like you're doing much, but your support alone is part of what keeps me going." Vilkas made a noise that sounded as though he meant to disagree, but Cry shook her head, pulling away from him so that she could meet his eyes. "I mean it. And you helped me through Alftand, and Blackreach. If I had to be alone, do this all by myself, I don't… I don't think I'd be able to."

Vilkas sighed, and Cry leaned up, pressing a light kiss to his mouth. She settled back down on the balls of her feet, and smiled at him.

"Really," she told him. "Your support means the world to me." She lowered her gaze. "But I need to do this next part alone."

"What?" Vilkas asked, disbelieving. "You're not going to let me come to High Hrothgar with you?"

Cry shook her head. "From this point on, it's between me, and the things that are standing in my way." She met his gaze again. "You'll be here, helping with preparations for capturing a dragon. I'm sure you know more about the history of Dragonsreach and its dragon trap than the people living there."

"That's probably true, but I don't like the idea of you traveling alone," Vilkas told her.

Cry managed a smile. "I know, but it - this is the decision I'm making. I hope that you'll respect it."

"I will," Vilkas said. "Of course I will. But that doesn't mean I like it."

"I'm not asking for that," Cry said, and the corner of Vilkas's mouth lifted in a smile. She leaned up to kiss him again, before taking his hand, and leading the way back to Jorrvaskr. "I'll leave tomorrow morning, at first light."

* * *

She did so, and thanks to speedy travel, despite her still-tender injury, she was at High Hrothgar by the time the dual moons rose the following evening. Arngeir seemed surprised by her quick return, but he welcomed her all the same, and seemed willing enough to discuss the dragon issue with her.

At least, until she proposed the idea of a peace conference.

"Dragonborn, I believe that you misunderstand the authority of the Greybeards," he began with a shake of his head. "We have never involved ourselves in political affairs."

"I know," Cry said. "The fact that you're up here on High Hrothgar so far away from everybody makes that pretty clear. But Jarl Balgruuf won't help me while the war rages."

Arngeir settled back in the chair he was seated in. "I see. The dragon you capture will lead you to Alduin, but without the jarl's help, there is no way to capture a dragon at all."

Cry leaned across the table towards him. "Both sides of the war respect the Greybeards. They will listen."

Arngeir studied her for a moment longer, before exhaling a long breath. In that moment, Cry truly recognized just how old Arngeir was, just how world-weary, even though he'd spent much of his life separated from it.

"Paathurnax has made the decision to help you," he said at last. "This is the road we have to walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of change, it seems." He rested his hands on the arms of his chair, and pushed himself to a standing position. "So be it. I will send letters to both Ulfric and General Tullius, stating that the Greybeards wish to speak to them. We will see if they still remember us."

Cry watched him walk away, before she smiled to herself, and relaxed back in her own chair, eyes closing in relief. All they could do now was wait. Hopefully, both generals would see reason, and getting words from the Greybeards that the dragon menace needed to be dealt with would be enough to get their attention.

Cry just had to hope that the Imperials wouldn't bring the Thalmor into it as well, because she doubted they'd forgiven her for breaking into their embassy. Having to deal with the aftermath of that on top of everything else would really just… be the icing on the cake. But the cake and icing are both disgusting.

In truth, she regretted not allowing Vilkas to come with her. She would have appreciated his company, any advice he might offer, not that advice was the right word for the kind words he would give. She hadn't wanted him to come, however, because she knew that it would risk too much, having him and Ulfric in the same room, with Ulfric knowing her past, and Vilkas not. She did not want Vilkas to find out from some comment that Ulfric made without meaning to, although she supposed she could have trusted the Jarl of Windhelm to keep it to himself.

At the same time, however, she knew that she couldn't, not with something so big. She could only trust _herself_ with the information, with keeping it from Vilkas, and the rest of the Companions. The real last thing she needed to worry about, she supposed, was the truth about her childhood emerging in the middle of a peace conference, with Vilkas there to hear it all, and then question her further about it afterwards.

She'd tell him, tell the Companions, everything. About the Forsworn, about her revenge mission, her escape and subsequent hide-out in Morrowind. They'd learn all they needed to know, and she would allow them to decide whether or not she should remain Harbinger, remain in their ranks at all, once they did.

Eventually.

For now, she had a dragon menace to deal with, and thus, a civil war to halt.


	39. Chapter 37: Halls of Peace

The generals responded more quickly than Cry imagined they would. Within a day, they'd received responses from them both, with word that both would travel to High Hrothgar to participate in the Greybeards' "peace talk." As such, High Hrothgar quickly became filled with activity, all four of the Greybeards doing what they needed to prepare for the guests that were coming.

"I have not seen Ulfric Stormcloak since he was a young man," Arngeir said to Cry, in passing. "I wonder how well he remembers his training."

"Pretty well, I'm sure," Cry said, thinking of what had started the civil war in the first place. "Just, maybe not for the purposes that you taught him."

Arngeir smiled a bit in response, although there was sadness behind it. Cry could understand why; the Greybeards worked to understand the Way of the Voice for peaceful reasons; Ulfric had used it for the exact opposite. In a way, however, Cry did the same on a daily basis. She knew that that was part of her duties as Dragonborn that the Greybeards resented.

A necessary evil, however ridiculous the term was.

Two days after the letters arrived, the first arrivals appeared. Unsurprisingly, it was Ulfric; he'd brought Galmar with him. Cry had to assume they'd gotten to High Hrothgar first because they'd been in Windhelm, but Galmar shook his head at her inquiry.

"Markarth," he said. "We'll take the city soon enough." He cocked his head to the side. "So, _Dragonborn."_ Cry smiled sheepishly, and shrugged. "This was your plan?"

"I need Whiterun," Cry said, "and the jarl won't let me use the palace until he knows that neither side of the war will attack the city while I'm there."

"And what will you be doing with the palace, exactly?" Ulfric asked.

"Capturing a dragon," Cry replied. Ulfric and Galmar exchanged a look, and Cry sighed. "I know how it sounds, but it's the truth. I need to speak with one, to learn about how Alduin can get between Skyrim and Sovngarde."

"Alduin, the World-Eater?" Galmar shook his head. "You must be kidding."

"I wish I was," Cry sighed, "but it's like prophecy says: Dragonborn and Alduin return together." She gestured to herself. "Dragonborn." She pointed somewhere vaguely north. "Alduin."

"And it's your job to kill him," Ulfric concluded. Cry nodded. "Well, then we will listen to whatever the Greybeards have to say, if only so that you may complete your task." He examined her for a moment. "Or attempt to."

He walked past her, into High Hrothgar, and Cry looked at Galmar in question. He shook his head. "We're struggling in Falkreath," he said, lowly. "Faisley's doing what she can, but nothing's worked thus far."

"Hm." Cry shrugged, a little. "If this talk happens, you can take the break I need to kill Alduin to reconfigure your strategy."

Galmar smiled a bit, and reached out, ruffling her hair. "Smart thinking, little warrior," he commented, and went after Ulfric.

Four hours later, Jarl Balgruuf himself arrived, accompanied, surprisingly, by General Tulius, along with someone that Cry assumed was his second in command, Jarl Elisif of Solitude, and, to Cry's chagrin, Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador. She eyed Cry as Arngeir greeted the other three, and welcomed them all to High Hrothgar. Cry pretended not to notice the way the Altmer was gazing at her expectantly, as though she were expecting Cry to apologize for breaking-and-entering, which Cry had no intention of doing.

Similarly, she had no idea that Esbern and Delphine were going to show up, and yet, there they were, coming through the doors of High Hrothgar, with Lydia following behind them.

"I didn't expect the three of you," Cry said, eyebrows raised. "How did you hear about the talk?"

"We have our ways," Delphine said, gazing past her towards where Arngeir stood in the center of the main hall, frowning at the two Blades. She moved around Cry towards the head Greybeard, and stopped in front of him. "So. Arngeir, is it? You know why we're here." She gestured towards Esbern. "Are you going to let us in?"

"You were not invited here, and thus, you are not welcome here," Arngeir replied, evenly. Esbern started forward, but Cry placed out an arm, looking sideways at him, brow furrowed. He did not move further.

"We have as much right to be at this council as all of you," Delphine retorted, looking around at the other Greybeards, who had approached. "More, actually, since we were the ones that put the Dragonborn on this path."

"Were you?" Arngeir queried, plainly. 'The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds."

Delphine seethed. Cry could see it in the way her fists clenched at her sides. "If it were up to you, the Dragonborn would sit dreaming on this mountain, doing nothing!"

"Step aside, Dragonborn," Esbern said, lightly, and Cry did so after a moment of hesitation. Esbern approached the others, continuing to speak calmly, as he rested a hand on Delphine's shoulder. "Delphine, we are not here to rehearse old grudges. The matter at hand is urgent. Alduin must be stopped." He looked at Arngeir. "You wouldn't have called this council if you didn't agree. We know a great deal about the situation and the threat that Alduin poses to us all. You need us here if you want this council to succeed."

Arngeir looked between the two Blades, before he glanced at his fellow Greybeards, who gazed passively ahead. After a long moment, he let out a sigh, and said, "Very well. You may enter."

Delphine didn't even bother to respond. She merely passed by him without another word, Esbern following after her. Cry stepped forward, Lydia behind her, and Arngeir's shoulders set.

"So, this is where we are," he said. "The men of violence are gathered here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting. They are not yet tired of war. Far from it." He looked at her. "Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? "Season unending"." He sighed again. "So it has proved."

"This won't be in vain," Cry said.

"Maybe not," Arngeir said, "but in the end, even if they do put a temporary pause on their war, it will merely continue after you have defeated Alduin." He shook his head. "All the same, let us join them, and see where we can take this."

He turned, and headed for the conference room, with the other Greybeards following after him. Cry glanced back at Lydia. "Thank you for speaking with the Blades," Cry told her.

"It was no problem, my thane," Lydia said, and she hesitated. "Although… I do have something to speak to you about, when we are done here."

Cry nodded. "Of course. Remind me." Lydia dipped her head, and Cry gestured. "Let's go."

They headed for the conference room as well. Unsurprisingly, the two halves of the party were on either side of the large stone table in the center of the room. Cry looked around, and decided to do the diplomatic thing, which was take a chair at the table in the rear of the room, in the center, so that she was not on one side or the other.

"Now that everyone is here," Arngeir began, "please take your seats so we can begin." The Solitude/Imperial side did just that, while Galmar and Ulfric remained standing, clearly unsettled by the presence of Elenwen. "I hope that we have all come here in the spirit of -"

"No," Ulfric said, sharply, cutting him off. "You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos-hunter?"

Cry heard the lieutenant that had come along with Tullius mutter under her breath, "That didn't take long," while at the same time Galmar emitted a gruff, "Here, here!" in response to Ulfric's statement.

Elenmen scowled at Ulfric from across the room. "I have every right to be at this negotiation. I need to ensure that nothing is agreed to here that violates the terms of the White-Gold Concordat."

Tullius nodded. "She is part of the Imperial delegation. You can't dictate who I bring to this council."

"Please," Arngeir said, patiently. "If we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will never get anywhere." He looked at Cry, and nodded to her. "Perhaps this would be a good time to get the Dragonborn's input on this matter."

Ulfric snorted, and looked at Cry as well. "Either she walks, or I do." He cocked his head to the side. "I'm sure you understand why."

Cry inhaled, slightly. She hated being put in the middle of the things, but in truth, she felt similarly to Ulfric and Galmar. She did not want Elenwen in the room, if not for the same reasons that they did not.

"I think the Ambassador should leave," she said, calmly.

Elenwen rolled her eyes, but all the same stood again. "Very well, Ulfric. Enjoy your petty victory. The Thalmor will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not think of interfering in your civil war." She turned to Cry. "But do not think we've forgotten about your… party crashing ways, Dragonborn."

With that, she turned and exited the room, and Cry lowered her gaze to her hands, which she had in her lap. She heard Arngeir sigh, "Now that that's settled, may we proceed?"

"I have something to say, first," Ulfric said, sitting down.

"Of course he does," the lieutenant grumbled. Cry fought back a smile. Even though she would never side with the Imperials, this particular one seemed to have a sense of humor.

"The only reason I agreed to attend this council was to deal with the dragon menace," Ulfric stated. "There's nothing else to talk about, unless the Empire is finally ready to renounce its unjust claim to rule over the free people of Skyrim. We're here to offer a temporary truce to allow the Dragonborn to deal with the dragons. Nothing more." The corner of his lip lifted in an expression of disgust. "I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture."

Tullius seemed bored. "Are you done? Did you just come here to make speeches, or can we get down to business?" he asked, blandly.

Ulfric crossed his arms, and leaned back in his chair. "Yes, let's get this over with."

Arngeir looked between both sides of the table. "Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius. This council is unprecedented. We are gathered here at the Dragonborn's request. I ask that you all respect the spirit of High Hrothgar, and do your best to begin the process of achieving a lasting peace in Skyrim. Who would like to begin negotiations?"

There was a moment of silence, until Ulfric said, "We want control of Markarth. That's our price for agreeing to a truce."

Elisif scoffed. "So that's why you're here, Ulfric? You dare to insult the Greybeards by using this council to advance your own position?"

"Jarl Elisif, I will handle this," Tullius said, gently.

"General, this is outrageous!" Elisif retorted. "You can't be taking this demand seriously! I thought we were here to discuss a truce!"

"Elisif, I said I'd handle it!" Tullius barked back. Elisif sank back into her chair, stony-faced. Tullius looked across the room towards Ulfric. "Ulfric, you can't seriously expect us to give up Markarth at the negotiating table. You hope to gain in council what you've been unable to take in battle, is that it?"

Galmar snorted. "Please, another week of fighting and we would've had your boys running from the Reach," he said, dryly.

"I'm sure that Jarl Ulfric does not expect something for nothing," Arngeir said, evenly. "What would the Empire want in return?"

"Wait, General, you don't just intend to have Markarth over to that… traitor!" Elisif exclaimed, clearly unable to resist.

"Is this how the Empire repays us for our loyalty?" Balgruuf put in, much to Cry's surprise, and dismay. She'd thought Balgruuf had leaned more towards loyalty to the Stormcloaks, personally. She supposed she'd been wrong.

"Enough!" Tullius snapped. "First, let's be clear. This council wasn't my idea. I think it's a waste of time." He frowned at Ulfric, who frowned back. "You are a traitor to the Empire, and deserve a traitor's death. But I at least will negotiate in good faith." He then turned to Cry, who blinked. "Since we're all here at _your_ request, I would like to hear what you think Markarth is worth."

"Oh." Cry frowned a little. "I… I'm not entirely sure. I haven't really been… keeping up with the politics of the war, with who holds what." She considered. "I suppose… I suppose that Riften is a reasonable enough trade, though, isn't it?"

Tullius lifted an eyebrow, thoughtfully, while Ulfric and Galmar both frowned at Cry, clearly disappointed. She could only raise her shoulders in response. She didn't care about supporting the Stormcloaks, in that particular moment. She only wanted to do what was best for Skyrim, presently, which was getting the war to stop so that she could kill Alduin. She could make reparations with two of her oldest friends later.

"You heard her, Ulfric," Tullius said. "We've made you a fair offer. Are you serious about these talks, or are you just here to posture?"

Ulfric shook his head. "I expected better from you, Cry," he said. "I came here in good faith, and now it seems you're here to help the Empire."

"Of course not," Cry said, immediately losing her patience. "I'm here for Skyrim. I want to deal with the dragons, and the only way to do that is to get the two sides of the war to stop fighting, which means I'm going to do what I must to make that happen. I hold no allegiance to any one side in this affair, not as Dragonborn. I'm acting for the country as a whole."

"The Dragonborn speaks noblely, and truthfully," Esbern said, before Ulfric could retort. "Are all of you so blind that you can't see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about nothing, while the fate of the land hangs in the balance."

Ulfric scowled at him, before looking at Delphine. "Is he with you? If so, I advise you to tell him to watch his tongue."

"He is with me," Delphine replied evenly. "And I advise you both to listen to what he has to say, before you do anything rash."

"Do none of you understand the danger?" Esbern went on, when no one else spoke. "Don't you understand what the return of the dragons means? Alduin has returned! The World-Eater! Even now, as we sit here, he devours the souls of your fallen comrades! He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war! Can you not put aside your hatred for even one moment in the face of this mortal danger?"

There was a long moment of silence. Cry glanced between both Ulfric and Tullius, wondering who would speak first. She was not surprised when it was Ulfric.

"If it is true, about Alduin, we both have just as much to lose here, Tullius, remember that." Tullius did not reply, and Ulfric sighed. "Back to the matter at hand."

"I believe we've reached a fair enough deal, if you agree to it," Tullius said after a moment, and Ulfric exchanged a glance with Galmar, who tilted his head back and forth, subtly, but Cry caught it all the same. Ulfric turned back to Tullius.

"We want Hjaalmarch," he said. "Take Idgrod Ravencrone off the throne, and allow Sorli the Builder to take over at Jarl of Morthal."

"Bah," Tullius grumbled. "Where do these demands stop, Ulfric? Do you expect me to surrender all of Skyrim?"

"You get Riften, you get ports, for supplies," Ulfric said, "which is much more than we get with Markarth. We want Morthal as well."

"Dragonborn?" Tullius prompted.

Cry rubbed at her eyes. "Whatever necessary to get the fighting to stop," she said, quietly. "For Skyrim."

Another long moment of silence. Finally, Tullius exhaled. "Fine," he said. "But we want compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten."

"Massacre." Ulfric shook his head. "Strong word."

"You slaughtered the very people you claim to be fighting for!" the lieutenant at Tullius's side snapped. "True sons of Skyrim would never do such things."

"Damned Imperial lies!" Galmar growled back. "My men would never stoop to such methods, even in retaliation for your butchery at -"

"This is our homeland, Tullius," Ulfric said, cutting Galmar off. "All the blood spilled in this war is on your head." He glanced at Cry. "I expect you agree with him, however."

"Whatever's necessary," Cry repeated, dryly.

Tullius smirked. "For once, you'll actually pay for your crimes," he said to Ulfric, whose eyes narrowed.

Arngeir glanced between the two men, but when neither seemed to have anything more to say, he said, "It seems we may have an agreement. Jarl Ulfric, General Tullius, these are the terms currently on the table. Markarth will be handed over to Ulfric's forces. Jarl Igmund will step down, and Thongvor Silver-Blood will become Jarl of Markarth. The Stormcloaks will withdraw from the Rift, allowing Imperial troops unhindered access. Jarl Laila Law-Giver will step down, and Maven Black-Briar will become Jarl of Riften. The Stormcloaks will pay appropriate compensation for the massacre at Karthwasten, and Hjaalmarch will be turned over to Ulfric, with Sorli the Builder assuming the Jarlship." He lifted his eyebrows. "You both agree to this?"

Ulfric leaned back in his chair. "The sons of Skyrim will live up to their agreements, as long as the Imperials hold to theirs." He looked at Elisif. "What about you, Elisif? Are these terms to your liking? Speak up, I'm sure General Tullius is waiting to do your bidding."

"I have nothing to say to that murderer," Elisif said, bitterly, and she looked at Tullius. "General, you've proven yourself a good friend to Skyrim. I continue to trust that you will do your utmost to safeguard our interests."

"Thank you, Jarl Elisif," Tullius said with a dip of his head. "I appreciate your loyalty." He turned back to Ulfric. "The Empire can live with these terms, yes. For a temporary truce, until the dragon menace is dealt with." He frowned. "After that, Ulfric… there will be a reckoning. Count on it."

Ulfric rolled his eyes, and stood. "Come on, Galmar. We've got a lot of work to do." He looked briefly to Cry. "Visit Windhelm, when you have the time. I'm sure your sister would like to see you."

Cry chose not to respond, and the two Stormcloaks exited the conference room. When they were gone, Balgruuf looked at Cry as well. "Giving up Markarth is a heavy price for this truce, Dragonborn. I hope it was worth it."

Cry did not respond to him, either, and so Arngeir did for her: "Jarl Balgruuf, I assume you are familiar with the Dragonborn's plan?"

"Yes, I'm ready to do my part," Balgruuf replied, looking at Cry again. "Your Master at Arms, Vilkas, he's been at work in Whiterun, getting things prepared. As soon as you give the word, my men will help you spring this trap."

"I assume you have a way to attract a dragon prepared?" Arngeir asked, directing the question towards Cry, who lowered her gaze.

"No," she said. "I don't."

"Well, good," Tullius said, flatly. "Overlooking a little detail like that surely won't cause any problems."

"I believe that I may be of help, here," Esbern commented. Cry glanced up, looking at him, hopeful. "While you were arranging this meeting, I was busy in the library of Sky Haven Temple. An unguessed trove of lost lore…" He trailed off, and then shook his head, clearly remembering the real topic of conversation. "The important thing is that the Blades recorded many of the names of dragons they slew. Cross-referencing this with Delphine's map of dragon burial sites, and I believe I've identified one of the dragons that Alduin has raised up."

"All right," Cry said. "I know about Shouting, to compel a fight. I've done it more than once. Usually, however, the dragon will give me their name, first."

Esbern nodded in agreement. "This will be different. You will need to call this particular dragon with the Voice. No doubt he will be loath to refuse the challenge."

"So, what's this dragon's name?" Cry asked.

"Ah," Esbern said, looking around at the Greybeards. "I am not a master of the Voice like these worthy gentlemen, but as it was written: Od-Ah-Viing. "Winged Snow Hunter," I believe, is the proper translation."

As with all other Words of Power, Cry felt this one's meaning in her soul. For at their base, that was what dragon names were: Shouts. She'd turned her own name into one, to help with proper courtesy in battle between two dragons.

She nodded her thanks to Esbern, and those who remained at the table stood to leave. While the Imperial side exited the room, Delphine and Esbern remained near the door, as though waiting for something. Lydia approached Cry, which she assumed was not unrelated to the fact that the Blades appeared hesitant to go.

"You want to join the Blades," Cry guessed, before Lydia could say anything. Her housecarl hesitated, but then nodded, once. Cry smiled a bit. "I shouldn't be surprised, and truly, I'm not. I could not expect you to be content with being my housecarl forever." She dipped her head. "Join them. I release you from your terms of service to me."

"You do not have to," Lydia said, quickly. "If you still require my service -"

"Lydia, technically, you will still be in my service," Cry told her. "Just as Dragonborn, and not as Thane of Whiterun."

At this, Lydia chanced a small smile, and she nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I was glad to serve you."

"And I thank you for your service," Cry returned, and watched as Lydia joined Delphine and Esbern. Delphine lingered behind for a moment, watching Cry, before she turned and followed the other two.

It was only then that Arngeir approached Cry. "You did well here today," he said. "I do not think the truce will last long, but that will not be on your account."

"Thank you again, for holding the conference here," Cry said, and he shook his head.

"We do what we can to assist you, Dragonborn. I assume you will return to Whiterun, now?"

Cry nodded. "I need to finish this."

"Then I wish you luck," Arngeir said. "The Greybeards wish you luck."

"I'm going to need all the luck I can get," Cry said, quietly, knowing she spoke the truth.


	40. Chapter 38: An Impasse

"You're back," Farkas said, smiling a bit, from where he sat in a chair on the rear eating area, behind Jorrvaskr. Cry smiled back, nodding, and let her pack fall to the ground, before sinking down into a chair beside him. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"About as well as expected," she answered, "but we got a truce out of it, which was my only intention." She attempted to crack her neck, but failed, and sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall behind her. "Ugh. I hate traveling. If I can stay in one place for at least a month after this is over, that's exactly what I'll do."

"Cry." She lifted her head, and another smile lifted the corners of her mouth when she saw Vilkas. He stepped up onto the eating area and walked towards her chair. Cry stood, and hugged him, tightly, pressing her face into his neck, breathing him in.

"Hi," she said, after a moment, and listened as he chuckled.

"Welcome back," he said. She pulled away just enough so that she could look at him, and he brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I heard that you succeeded."

"I guess I did," Cry said. "I made them all angry in the process, but I've got bigger things to worry about than the bruised egos of two generals." She reached up, and cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb over his stubble. How was it that she missed him more and more, even though her stints away from him were increasingly shorter? "How'd it go here?"

"Fine," Vilkas said. "We tested the trap, to make sure that it still works, and organized the positions of the guards for when the dragon shows up." He took her hand in his. "Are you ready? Jarl Balgruuf said that we can begin whenever you give the word."

"He said the same to me," Cry agreed, and she let out a breath. "I - this will be it, won't it? We'll capture the dragon, he'll assumingly tell me what I need to know, and then I'll be off to wherever I need to go, in order to fight Alduin." She closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of the idea settling over her. "Gods, I hate that."

Vilkas chuckled again, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You'll be fine," he assured, and Cry opened her eyes in surprise, looking at him.

"That came from _you_ this time," she said, and he nodded. "Huh. It must be true, then, if you believe it." Vilkas rolled his eyes, and she grinned, leaning up on her toes to kiss him.

"All right," Farkas sighed, giving her cause to pull away again. They both glanced at him, and saw he had his face in his hands. "I get that you two are in love, but you could keep the signs of affection within the walls of Jorrvaskr, and, preferably, in your own bedrooms."

"Why would we?" Cry teased. "Displays of softness might be what the Companions need."

"Ugh," Farkas groaned, his hands sliding slowly down his face. He looked at them for a moment, before he smiled, just a little. "I'm glad you two are happy, finally. It took long enough."

Cry and Vilkas both exchanged an amused glance, before the door into Jorrvaskr swung open, and Aela stuck her head out. She lifted an eyebrow, seeing Cry.

"This is it, then?" she guessed, and Cry's chest tightened, but all the same, she nodded. "How do you feel?"

"Empty," Cry said without thinking, and then blinked. "Huh. Well. I guess that's the truth."

Vilkas looked at her, concerned. "Empty?"

"It's - I don't know," Cry said, quietly. "I just… I don't have any feelings one way or another. I'm not, like, scared, I'm not anticipating it, it's just… something that's going to happen."

There was a moment of silence between all four of them, before Aela clicked her tongue, and said, "You'll be fine," she said, simply. "Are the Companions meant to help fight this dragon that you're going to be calling down on Whiterun?"

Cry shook her head. "No," she said. "They can if they want, but I won't ask them to."

Aela nodded, and disappeared back into Jorrvaskr. Cry glanced at Vilkas and Farkas. "She doesn't like me."

"Aela doesn't _like_ people," Farkas said. "She just tolerates some more than others." He stood up from his chair. "So, are we fighting a dragon?"

"Right now?" Vilkas asked, looking at Cry, who lifted her shoulders.

"Why not now? Since everything is ready, and just waiting on me." She hesitated a moment. "Although, maybe I should stock up on health potions, first. Who knows if I'll have the time, once the dragon is here."

"We might have some already," Vilkas said. "Let's go check."

Cry followed him into Jorrvaskr. The main hall was empty, which seemed strange, considering that none of the whelps had been in the training yard, and she doubted any of them were downstairs sleeping. Together, she and Vilkas walked down to the living quarters, where Vilkas tugged open a cabinet, revealing a plethora of potions on the lower shelf.

"Huh," Cry commented, as he picked out four of the health-based ones. "I've always wondered what was in there, but never thought to actually open it."

Vilkas smiled a bit. "Did you think it was just a decor piece?" he asked, lightly, and Cry shrugged, taking two of the potions from him.

"Guess so, subconsciously." Their gazes met, and Cry's heart thudded uncomfortably within her ribcage. "Vilkas -"

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "Save it," he said. "For when we have time."

"But what if this is the last chance we have?" she asked, softly. A crease appeared between Vilkas's brow.

"Don't say things like that."

"It's a very real possibility," Cry said. "I'll no doubt have to go to Sovngarde. What if I can't come back?"

"But you _will,"_ Vilkas insisted. He set down the potions he held, and took the ones that he'd given her, to set them down as well. He then turned back to her, and placed his hands on either side of her waist, meeting her eyes again. "Cry. Promise me that you'll return."

"Vilkas."

"Promise me, please," Vilkas insisted. "At least that you'll try. I don't know what you'll encounter in Sovngarde, whether it be someone who makes you want to stay, or just the place itself, but… I need to know that you'll do everything you can to come back to me, back to Skyrim, once you've defeated Alduin."

Cry glanced between his eyes for a moment, before she lowered her own, examining the insignia of the wolf on his chest armor. She traced her fingers over it.

"I'll try to return," she said, softly. "But that doesn't mean I'll be able to."

"I know that," Vilkas said, "but at least, if you cannot, I'll find comfort in knowing that you tried your best."

She nodded, and then lifted her gaze again, to look at him once more. "I love you," she said. "No matter what prophecy or destiny has in mind, know that."

"I do," Vilkas assured. "And I love you, just as much." He let out a breath. "I should've been saying it for much longer than I have been."

Cry smiled, and she cupped his cheek in her hand. "No," she said, "you've been saying it since exactly the right time."

Vilkas leaned down and kissed her. Cry moved her arms to around his neck, raising up on her toes slightly, so that he wouldn't need to bend as much. As such, when he broke the kiss, he was left with not much space to move, meaning that his forehead remained pressed to hers. Both of their eyes stayed closed.

"Are you ready?" he asked after a long moment of silence, during which Cry did everything she could to memorize this moment exactly, somehow sensing that she'd need a good memory to go back to, wherever the coming events took her.

She nodded. "I'm ready." She unlatched her arms, and took a step back, eyes opening. "Let's go capture a dragon."

After putting the potions away into a traveling pack for her, they headed back upstairs, and then out of Jorrvaskr, up the steps towards the Cloud District, and Dragonsreach. As they neared the top, however, Cry slowed, frowning a bit as she caught sight of all the other Companions lingering outside the palace.

"What're you all doing up here?" she asked, and the whelps all exchanged glances, before Njada turned to her.

"We're going to help with the dragon," she said. "You told Aela it was our choice." She spread her arms. "So here we are."

"Oh." Cry smiled. "Thank you, all of you. You didn't need to do this."

"Sure we did," Athis said. "You're our harbinger."

Vilkas reached over and took Cry's hand, squeezing it gently. Cry didn't miss the way Ria immediately looked away when this happened, frowning down at the ground.

"Speaking of, where do you want us, Harbinger?" Aela prompted, holding her bow in one hand.

"You, I'd like up in a tower," Cry said, nodding to the weapon. "You'll be handy to have up high."

Aela nodded, and headed for the doors of Jorrvaskr to be pointed in the right direction. Cry turned to the whelps. "The rest of you… take up position among the guards down here," she decided. "I don't know how much action you'll get, in terms of fighting the dragon, but you might be needed to help protect citizens."

"Yes, Harbinger!" Torvar said, cheerfully, and he shuffled off. Athis rolled his eyes a bit before following, and Njada did the same. Ria lingered for a moment, her eyes darting between Vilkas and Cry.

"You heard your harbinger, Ria," Vilkas said, without any malice or bite. "Get moving."

"Right," Ria said, after a moment. "Sorry."

She walked off, and Cry's shoulders fell. Vilkas shook his head. "She's -"

"Don't," Cry said. "It's… if she wants to talk about it, she can come to me."

Vilkas dipped his head in agreement, and Cry looked between him and Farkas, who was currently jogging up the steps to join them.

"I know that you two can take on a dragon," she said, and they both nodded. "So, you'll be up wherever the trap is, with me. I imagine the dragon will go there first, since that's where I'll call him from."

"Sounds good," Farkas said with a shrug. "We ready?"

"I think so," Cry said, and she squeezed Vilkas's hand. "Follow me."

The three of them headed into Dragonsreach. Balgruuf's housecarl was waiting for them in the main hall. Irileth approached them, catching sight of Cry, and said, "They're waiting for you on the rear balcony."

Cry nodded, and led the way there, going up the stairs near the throne and out the large doors on the next floor up. Indeed, the balcony on the other side was full of activity, guards pacing around, Balgruuf standing off to the side, watching it all with a slight frown on his face. Cry moved away from Vilkas and Farkas, and walked over to him.

"You have a plan?" Cry nodded in response to the question. The jarl gestured. "Go ahead and call him, then," he said. "We're ready."

Cry managed another nod, and then she walked down the balcony to the edge, stopping at the railing there. She placed her hands on top of it, and peered over the edge, to the wide expanse of Whiterun landscape that she could see from this height. She closed her eyes, and just breathed for a moment, centering herself. She knew what she had to do, she knew that she had to do it, but the fact that she didn't know what came _after_ she did it was what was giving her pause.

All the same, she was there, on the balcony of Dragonsreach, with everyone behind her waiting for her to summon the dragon. There was no reason for her to continue to wait, aside from her own uncertainty. She was the Dragonborn; uncertainty was not something that she could afford.

She opened her eyes again, and stepped back from the railing a bit, to give her plenty of space to Shout. The name that Esbern had shared with her burned in her chest, just as all Words of Power did, and she felt the meaning of every part of the name as she Shouted it into the air: _"Od… ah viing!"_

The Shout echoed over the Whiterun plans, bouncing back to her off the Throat of the World in the distance. There was nothing but silence on the balcony behind her, and she briefly realized it was partly because most of the people on the balcony had never heard a Thu'um before, but also because they knew this particular Thu'um meant that a dragon would be coming.

And they were all terrified.

Cry released a breath, and reached up behind her, pulling out her greatsword. She angled it in such a way that the sun reflected off of its Skyforge steel-crafted blade, which gave her a sense of courage that she hadn't known she'd needed. She smiled a little, and lifted her gaze again, as a dragon's roar could be heard in the distance.

"Hear that?" She looked to her left, and her eyes widened when she saw a guard had approached the edge of the balcony. Before she could give any sort of warning, the guard was gone, snatched up by a dragon that had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

Cry raced to the edge of the balcony, and watched, anguished, as the dragon dropped the guard from high up in the air. She winced, and looked away just before the guard's body hit the ground.

"Shor's bones," a guard behind her gasped, and she heard Balgruuf bark an order as Odahviing swooped back down, and hovered just in front of the balcony, looking at her.

_"Dovahkiin!"_ he shouted. "Here I am!"

He spewed fire onto the balcony, then, before flying off once more, leaving Cry to stagger backwards to avoid the flames. She realized, belatedly, that that had been the perfect opportunity to use Dragonrend on him, and she cursed herself for having missed it.

"We might not be trying to kill him, but he sure seems like he's trying to kill us!" a guard exclaimed as Odahviing swooped past again, breathing more fire as he went.

Cry followed the dragon's path with her gaze while around her guards fired arrows, no doubt doing what they could to get the dragon to land. She had a surefire way of this, if only she could… aim…

_"Joor.. Zah Frul!"_

Odahviing twisted in the air as the blue energy enveloped him, and Cry grinned, victorious, before she spun around. "Back up!" she shouted, waving her arms.

"Back up!" Balgruuf repeated, a bit louder. The guards fell back at their thane and jarl's command, holding bows aloft and towards Odahviing as the dragon crashed through the railing at the end of the balcony, roaring. He thundered forward towards Cry, teeth gnashing, chasing her further down the balcony. Cry continued to jump backwards, avoiding injury, until she hit the doors.

"Now!" she heard Vilkas call, and watched in amazement as a heavy wooden collar of sorts snapped itself around Odahviing's neck, cutting him just short of snatching her up in his mouth. The dragon jerked his neck, and let out a vicious roar, before falling still.

Cry moved away from the doors, panting, and more than a little wary. The dragon was panting as well, seething, really, and glowering at everyone around him through narrowed yellow eyes.

"It's holding," a guard said, sounding relieved, and Cry was, too. Thank the Gods it had worked.

"Cry." She jumped, a bit, when Vilkas touched her shoulder, and looked sideways at him. He frowned, clearly concerned. "Are you all right?"

She exhaled, and managed a nod. "Not everyday you have to run backwards away from the jaws of death," she said, gesturing vaguely towards the dragon. "I guess I should speak with him."

"That is what we captured him for," Vilkas agreed. "Do you want me to -?"

"No," Cry said. She looked at Odahviing, who was eyeing her. "This is between me and him."

Vilkas nodded, after a moment, and Cry stepped away from him, towards the dragon. Odahviing lifted his head, as best as he could, clearly hoping for an appearance of grace, but failing.

_"Horvatah med kodnaav,"_ he rumbled. "Caught like a bear in a trap. _Zok fini grind ko grah dun viiki, Dovahkiin."_

"Yeah, it was," Cry agreed, and Odahviing blinked a few times, clearly surprised. "I can speak your language, dragon."

The dragon huffed out something like could have been a laugh. Cry didn't think that dragons could laugh, but apparently -

"I salute your cunning in devising such a… stratagem," Odahviing said. "You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this humiliating position." He cocked his head, slightly. _"Hind ziiv_ Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find him?"

"Exactly," Cry said, crossing her arms. "Glad we're on the same page. Do you know where he's hiding?"

"Alduin _bovul,"_ Odahviing murmured, and Cry nodded her agreement. "Hm. Part of the reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um for myself." He stretched his wings, as best he could. "Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his Thu'um is truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. _Mu ni meyye._ None were yet ready to openly defy him."

Cry lifted her gaze to the ceiling, high above. "You were going to tell me where I can find him?" she prompted, patiently.

Odahviing hummed. _"Unslaad krosis._ Innumerable pardons. I digress." His head fell. "He has traveled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the _sillesejoor…_ the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards."

Cry closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to think about all the souls that had been lost in order to satiate Alduin's hunger. She severely hoped that her parents were not counted among them. Or Kodlak.

"His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains," Odahviing went on. _"Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til."_

"I bet," Cry sighed.

Odahviing huffed again. "I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshalled there."

"Nope, you don't," Cry assured, vacantly. If it truly was the place where Alduin's dragon army gathered, it would no doubt be one of the most dangerous places she'd ever travel to, but she had no choice. In order to get to Sovngarde, after Alduin, she had to go.

"Now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?" Odahviing queried, sounding hopeful.

Cry frowned. "No, of course not," she said. "I can't have you flying around and terrorizing more cities and villages. You will remain here until Alduin is defeated."

Odahviing blinked. "Ah. Well. Hm… _krosis._ There is one… detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention?"

Cry rolled her eyes. "Of course," she said. "Well?"

"You have the Thu'um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn. Of course, I could fly you there, but… not while imprisoned like this."

Cry eyed him. "We seem to be at an impasse, then."

"Indeed," Odahviing agreed. _"Orin brit ro._ I cannot leave here until you defeat Alduin, which you cannot do without my help."

It was Cry's turn to cock her head. "You expect me to take your word on that?" she asked.

Odahviing snorted. "You wound me, _Dovahkiin._ I may not tell the whole truth, but I am no liar." He gestured with a wing. "Go and see for yourself. I will be here… unless Alduin returns before you do."

Damn. He had her there. She couldn't risk an expedition into the mountains that might lead nowhere, not when Alduin could come back while she was away.

"Fine," she said, lowering her arms. "I will release you, if you promise to take me to Skuldafn."

Odahviing seemed pleased. "It is wise to recognize when you have only one choice," he said. "And you can trust me. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now." He leveled her with his yellow gaze. "Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn."

Cry dipped her head, and backed away, glancing up towards the guard that was standing next to the lever that would release the trap. There was a second level of sorts to the balcony, and it was up a set up stairs to her right. She mounted them, heading towards the guard, while below, the court wizard, Farengar, approached Odahviing, no doubt to bother him.

"Open the trap," Cry said to the guard next to the lever, after approaching him.

"You sure about that?" the guard asked, frowning over the side of the bannister towards the dragon below. Farengar must've done something untold, because he breathed fire, causing the court mage to scamper away. The guard looked back at Cry, clearly befuddled. "You want to let that dragon loose after all the trouble to catch it?"

"Yes," Cry replied.

"Your funeral," the guard mumbled after a moment. "Someone else is going to have to help you get him back in there again."

He hit the lever, and the wooden beams that had trapped Odahviing released. The dragon immediately shuffled around, grumbling under his breath in _Dovahzul,_ heading for the end of the balcony.

Cry headed back down the stairs, hesitating at the bottom. Aela had come down from whatever tower she'd holed up in, and was standing with Farkas and Vilkas. Vilkas's gaze caught Cry's, and she walked over to them.

"What's happening?" he asked.

"I have a destination," Cry answered. She dipped her head towards Odahviing, who had stopped at the end of the balcony, waiting. "He's going to take me there."

"Right now?" Farkas questioned, and Cry nodded. "Oh." Farkas furrowed his brow. "It's safe?"

Cry managed a smile. "Won't know until I try it." She looked between all three of them. "I don't know when I'll be back. I'm trusting all of you to look after Jorrvaskr."

"Of course we will," Aela said, arms crossed. "It's what we've been doing, while you've been off all this time." There was a moment of silence, and then, it seemed, the huntress relented. She lowered his arms, looking at Cry with the slightest expression of concern. "Fight well, Shield-Sister. The Companions would like their harbinger back, for good."

Cry dipped her head in agreement, and then glanced at Farkas, who seemed to be uncertain about the whole affair. "Don't worry, Farkas," she said, lightly.

"I'm not," he said. "I don't think. I know that you'll be fine." He shrugged. "Come back with a story."

"I'm sure I will," Cry said, with another smile. She looked at Vilkas, which seemed to be Aela and Farkas's cue to walk away, leaving them alone.

Rather than say anything, Vilkas reached out, and took her hand in his. Cry watched him raise it to his lips, and kiss the back of it, eyes closed. She used her other hand to cup the back of his neck, squeezing gently, prompting him to open his eyes again.

"I'll be back," she said, gently. "I promise."

Vilkas released a short laugh. "I'm going to hold you to that," he said, and drew her close by wrapping an arm around her waist. Cry latched her own around his neck, hugging him tightly. They stayed that way for several long moments.

Finally, however, the grip he had around her waist slackened, and she settled back down to her normal height, meeting his eyes. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the corner of his mouth raised in a smile.

"Redo that, before you start fighting," he suggested. "You don't want your hair in your eyes."

"Good idea," Cry agreed, smiling back. "Vilkas -"

"I love you," he interrupted, and her smile grew.

"I love you too," she said, softly. "Thank you."

She backed away from him, and then turned and walked towards where Odahviing waited. He looked at her as she approached, expectant.

"I await your command, as promised," he said. "Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?"

Cry nodded. "I'm ready," she said, and she glanced briefly towards Vilkas one last time. Farkas and Aela had rejoined him. Farkas lifted his hand in a wave, and Cry smiled one last time, returning the gesture, before she looked at the dragon again. "Take me to Skuldafn."

_"Zok brit uth!"_ Odahviing stretched his wings. "I warn you, once you've flown the skies of Keizaal, your envy of the dov will only increase. _Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok."_

Cry examined him for a moment, before shrugging, and placing her foot against his scales. She managed to pretty easily haul herself up onto his back, in the space between his wings, and found that the position was actually pretty stable. She felt… comfortable, as though she were meant to ride dragons. And maybe she was. Or maybe it was just her dragonblood reflecting her need to fly.

Odahviing flapped his wings rhythmically, and Cry gripped onto his scales as they rose into the air. Odahviing exhaled a breath of relief, and before Cry really knew what was happening, they were flying away from Dragonsreach, and east, towards mountains that she'd never attempted to hike, because she'd never had a reason to. Now, she supposed, this would be the one time she had a reason. And she wouldn't be hiking them.

Odahviing was right. She'd never find walking the same again.


	41. Chapter 39: Trials to Sovngarde

**I changed some things, so now there's three parts to be posted, after this one, which means, surprise, another will be posted tomorrow, and then the final two will come out on Tuesday and Thursday (America time). **

* * *

Behind her, Odahviing took to the sky. Cry glanced back long enough to watch him disappear among the clouds, before facing forward again, breathing outwards. Skuldafn was what she'd expected it to be: a temple of sorts, high up in the mountains, just as Odahviing had promised. So far, she hadn't noticed any threats. She imagined that she wouldn't be able to count them all, once she actually moved in.

For now, though, she lingered at the bottom of the long set of stairs in front of her, just breathing. She needed to center herself, after _riding on the back of a dragon._ Her legs felt a little shaky. She settled down into a squat, letting herself get used to solid ground again.

She didn't have a lot of time to do so. Her ears pricked at a familiar sound, coming from somewhere north of her, and she lifted her head just in time to see a dragon crest over the top of the mountain she was faced with, roaring.

"Divines," Cry breathed, straightening up and pulling out her greatsword.

Thankfully, the dragon had come for the sole purpose of fighting her, and it made it clear pretty much immediately by breathing ice in her direction. Cry rolled out of the way of it, and retaliated with a Shout of fire. The dragon was too high for it to reach, but the very fact that she could Shout seemed to get the dragon's attention. It landed on top of an archway over a set of stairs leading higher up on the mountain, and peered down at her.

"_Zulluvlaat,"_ it rumbled.

"_Sillonbal,"_ Cry responded, introducing herself, and for good measure, Shouted some more fire into the air before adding, _"Dovahkiin."_

_"Dovahkiin,"_ the dragon repeated, sounding surprised. It stretched its wings, and then flew off again, out of sight. Cry waited for a moment, confused, before slowly sliding her greatsword back into its scabbard.

_What was that?_

She decided that she didn't want to linger on it for too long, chalking it up to the same reasoning that Odahviing had been willing to give her information on Alduin; maybe that dragon had been one of the ones Odahviing had mentioned, one who was wondering about Alduin's leadership.

Clearly, they were leaving it up to a fight between her and Alduin. She appreciated that. Alduin was only one dragon, and she'd fought plenty of those.

She relaxed a little. She hadn't known what she'd face here in Skuldafn, but at least dragons weren't part of the equation.

She started up the stairs, leading higher into the mountains, keeping her breathing even. She'd need to be light on her toes, and aware of everything that was going on around her. The last thing she wanted was to be caught unawares.

Just as she and Vilkas had approached the Silver Hand hideout, she approached Skuldafn methodically, moving slowly so as not to be surprised by anything. It didn't take long at all for her to encounter a pair of draugr. In fact, it seemed as though they were originally the guards of the entrance to the… monument? She wasn't entirely sure what to call the outside area of Skuldafn.

Still, two draugr were no problem for her. She took them down easily, distracting one by hitting him with her greatsword so that she could kill off the other, first. She ducked beneath the second one's axe, and then shoved her greatsword up into its ribcage, straight through the base of its skull. The eerie blue light in its eyes faded, and she pulled out her sword quickly, spinning to catch the first one across its armored chest. The force of her swing cut the draugr clean in half.

She continued forward, heading further up the monument. She imagined that it was more of an access point to the temple she had seen from the air, and her theory was proven maybe ten minutes later, after she'd fought off several more draugr in order to reach a steep staircase leading up into the stone building. She prepared herself for a number of puzzles before heading inside.

The inside of the temple was musty and dark, about what Cry had expected. Immediately, she had to take down several skeletons and draugr both, just to move forward into the temple proper. She was tempted to explore, but something inside of her said that she wouldn't find much; after all, who knew how long it had been since a living person had been there? What could there possibly be for her to find?

Navigating the temple took her longer than she cared to admit. Although she followed the smell of fresh air with her heightened werewolf senses, and the puzzles were pretty simplistic, she found herself winding back to rooms that she'd already been in. Everything looked the same, and a growing frustration was starting to creep into her chest.

At a point, she took a moment to close her eyes, and simply breathe. Draugr, skeletons, puzzles, dragons… it would all lead to her final goal. She just had to work through these smaller battles in order to get there. She needed to remain focused, steadfast, and keep moving. Who knew how much longer she had to reach Sovngarde before Alduin was refueled enough to return to the mortal realm, and wreak more havoc?

Re-centered, she kept moving.

She was more relieved to see a great door with a puzzle similar to the one she'd dealt with way-back-when in relation to the golden claw than she had been by anything in a long time. She let out a breath, and stepped towards it, retrieving the diamond claw she'd found along the way from her pack. She examined the markings on it for a moment, before reaching out to match them up with the rings on the door. After rotating each one to the proper symbol, she placed the claw into the keyhole, and turned it. When the door rumbled, she pulled it out and stepped back again, watching as the door lowered into the ground.

"All right," she said, speaking aloud for the first time since encountering the dragon outside. "Keep moving."

She crossed over the door, and entered a room that pulsed with the energy of a Word Wall, which she found near the rear of the room. The knowledge of the word carved into it and its meaning raced across the space between her and the wall, and she inhaled, listening to the murmurs that filled her head.

_Bah, Wrath, Bah, Wrath…_

The second word of a Shout she'd already learned. Arngeir had said it was called Storm Call. She smiled a little to herself, and kept going.

Outside awaited, and she pushed her way back out into the cold wind and sunlight, exhaling and inhaling a deep breath of fresh air. Outside. Her favorite place to be, currently.

More draugr were nearby, however, and so she was forced to return her attention to the task at hand, rather than savor the fact that she was once more out in the open. She noticed that the draugr seemed to get more and more difficult to fight the further forward she advanced, which she supposed wasn't a surprise. All the same, with a combination of Shouts and skillful sword technique, none of them posed a serious problem

The natural path set before her by waiting enemies and the literal stone path under-foot led her over a bridge of sorts, and then up another set of stairs. A beam of light was shooting up into the sky at the top of it, a beam that she'd noticed while riding in on Odahviing. As she climbed the stairs, however, it disappeared, and she frowned, picking up her pace to reach the top.

She stopped when she encountered a being she'd never seen before standing near what looked to be portal of some kind, that currently was not in operation. The being held a staff, and turned to face her. She was startled by the stone mask it wore, which seemed to want to mimic a skull, but fell short. It was draped in tattered robes, and beneath she caught sight of nothing but bone, an incomplete skeleton.

"What _are_ you?" she asked it, grip tight on her greatsword.

Instead of responding, the creature threw back its head, pointing the staff in her direction. Cry barely had time to roll out of the way of a lighting strike that hit the ground where she'd stood. She got back to her feet, horrified by the power the staff wielded, and decided she needed to take this thing out immediately.

Thankfully, the staff's magical properties clearly had a waiting time to be used again, which gave her room to approach the being and Shout fire at it. It was enveloped in flames, but the fact that it didn't make any sound in response to being alight was unnerving. It twisted around, attempting to extinguish itself, while Cry hacked at it with her greatsword, getting in as many hits as possible. She then retreated, sensing that it would strike again with the staff, and it did, in the spot she'd just been standing.

She exhaled, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes, and advanced again.

The damned thing was resilient, but thankfully, it seemed to only know how to attack with the staff. When Cry successfully sliced the hand that held it off of the being, it floundered, not knowing what to do.

"Good try," she said, and sent her greatsword through its neck. The head and mask went flying, and the incomplete skeleton covered in ragged robes fell to the ground. Cry took a step back, panting, hunching over with her hands on her knees. She thought Vilkas would be pleased with how she handled that fight, and smiled when she realized he'd still probably have something to say about what she could have done better.

She straightened up again, and glanced around for the staff. After she retrieved it, she walked up the stairs that leered over the portal itself, and placed it in the hole there. She watched as the portal opened, and the beam of light returned, shooting straight up into the sky. The portal hummed, and she studied it for a moment, not wanting to jump right in.

If this was the portal that led to Sovngarde, which she imagined she was, she had no idea if entering it meant that she would never return to Skyrim, provided she successfully defeated Alduin and had the opportunity. The portal that hummed invitingly before her could very well mean her permanent death.

She glanced over her shoulder for a moment, and then lifted her gaze to the sky. She closed her eyes, inhaling slowly, and then took a step off of the platform.

She fell through nothing, experienced nothing, for a long time.

And then, the sky burst open, and all she saw was light.

* * *

Cry sat up, rubbing at the back of her head. Her eyes widened as she took in the landscape around her. Everything held an internal glow, a bluish-purple hue to it that made it all look ethereal. Despite the dark fog in the distance, she could tell that this place, which she could only assume was Sovngarde, was beautiful.

She climbed to her feet, just as from the distance, the familiar sound of a dragon's roar erupted. She lifted her head, brow furrowing. She back over her shoulder to ensure that her greatsword was in place, and moved forward down the path ahead of her.

She went along at a walking pace, not in any hurry. Alduin knew she was here; she knew that was what his roar had meant. There was no reason to rush, not anymore. This was where one of them would make their final stand. She had no doubts that Alduin thought it would be her.

_We'll see about that,_ she thought, bitterly.

She passed by several different spirits, all who looked very lost, mumbling about their last moments before death. She frowned at each one, knowing that they were stranded in the fog caused by Alduin's presence. All the more reason for her to defeat the dragon, she decided, so that all of the wandering souls would be able to go wherever they were meant to, whether it be Shor's Hall, or elsewhere.

She froze in her path when she caught sight of the dark shape of a dragon just ahead. It rose up out of view, into the fog, and Cry let out a steadying breath. The damn thing was waiting for her.

"All right," she said, under her breath. "I'm coming."

She picked up her pace a bit, following the path as best she could, despite the fact that it seemed to be growing thicker, the deeper into Sovngarde she went. She almost crashed into a spirit that was standing in the middle of the path, and she staggered backwards from them, apologizing.

Her voice trailed off when she realized that she recognized this spirit, however.

"K-Kodlak?" she asked, stunned.

He turned to look at her, and she realized immediately just how confused he was, a distance expression on his ghostly-face. He blinked a few times, slowly, dumbly.

"Alduin hunts me, as we once hunted our prey," he murmured, so quietly that Cry almost couldn't understand him. "A bitter payment, for many bloody deeds."

"Kodlak, Harbinger, it's me, Cry," she said, knowing that her attempt to speak with him was in vain. He was lost, at least as long as the fog remained. "I'm going to get rid of Alduin, I promise, and then you'll be free to reach Shor's Hall."

Kodlak blinked at her a few more times, before he turned away again. He wasn't seeing her, not really. Cry watched him wander away, and she felt resolve settle inside of her. Alduin needed to be defeated, here and now.

"Let's finish this," she muttered under her breath, and ran.

She rushed blindly through the fog, until it abruptly ended, and she found herself standing at the base of a hill of sorts, that led up to what seemed to be a bridge made out of… _whale bones?_

"You there." She frowned at the extremely tall man that was approaching her. He appeared to be a demi-god of some sort. "What brings you here, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to the honored dead?"

Cry blinked up at him. "First, who are you?" she retorted.

"I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor," he said. He gestured to the bridge behind him. "The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all the souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's loft hall where welcome, well-earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor."

"Ah." Cry let out a breath. "Well, I pursue Alduin, the World-Eater."

"A fateful errand," Tsun said, studying her. "No few have chafe to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor's restrained our wrathful onslaught - perhaps, deep counselled, your doom he foresaw."

Well, Cry didn't appreciate that idea whatsoever.

"No share are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead," Tsun continued. "By what right do you request entry to the Hall of Valor?"

Cry considered this question for a moment, and elected to tell the truth, as she saw it. "By right of glory, and by right of birth," she said. "I not only lead the Companions of Jorrvaskr, but I am also Dragonborn."

Tsun's eyebrows lifted. "Ah," he said. "It's been too long since I last faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood, and I welcome the chance to challenge the blade of Ysgramor's heir, honored shield-sister to Kodlak Whitemane, whom I've watched for in vain."

Cry's shoulders fell. "I passed him," she said. "He's out there, just as lost and confused as all of the other souls, because of this mist." She met Tsun's gaze. "I need to help them all, and to do so, I believe that I need to enter the Hall of Valor, to prepare for a final confrontation with Alduin."

"Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'til I judge them worthy by the warrior's test," Tsun said, and he reached up to pull the heavy warhammer he had on his back free of its scabbard. "Fight me, Harbinger of the Companions, Dragonborn," he said. "Prove that you are worthy!"

With that, he took a swing at her, and Cry ducked beneath it, startled. She reached up to retrieve her own weapon, and sliced it across his knees, falling backwards away from him as he staggered. She summoned up her Thu'um, and Shouted at him: _"Fus… Roh Dah!"_

She watched, prideful, as Tsun collapsed backwards to the ground. He let out a hearty chuckle. "Your Thu'um is strong, Dragonborn. It is a joy to be faced with a power like it's kind once more, after so many eons," he said, rising to his feet. "It is long since one of the living has entered here." He gestured towards the Whalebone Bridge. "May Shor's favor follow you and your errand."

Cry exhaled, relieved, and stood up again. She nodded to him, and crossed over the bridge, to the Hall of Valor, which waited gleaming on the other side.


	42. Chapter 40: Dragonborn

Cry pushed her way through the heavy doors of Shor's Hall, and found a feast on the other side. The large room was filled with warriors of old, all drinking and laughing. She was almost frustrated by the scene; how could they all be so cheerful, while so many souls who belonged here with them were outside, struggling to stay sane amidst the fog?

"Ah, welcome, Dragonborn!" She turned in the direction of the voice, brow furrowing as she put a face to it. Why did she recognize this man? "Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist." He gestured. "But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe. Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim."

_The Nords from the vision that the Elder Scroll showed me,_ Cry recalled.

"Go to them," the man continued. "They await your command -" He smiled a bit. "- Harbinger of the Companions. It is good to know that my band of warriors are under the command of a soul so valiant and worthy."

Cry's eyebrows shot up. "Ysgramor!" she said, and he dipped his head. Cry was stunned. "I can't - there's probably so much I could say or ask, but I'm… I'm struggling to come up with anything."

Ysgramor chuckled. "Do not fret, Shield-Sister," he said. "Any questions you have will receive answers as time passes. I only ask that you continue to lead the Companions with honor, and that you honor my memory, and the memory of lost Harbingers and warriors, in the process."

"Of course," Cry said. "It - it is an honor to do so."

Ysgramor nodded to her, and walked away. Cry watched him go, mystified. Vilkas would _never_ believe her.

"Dragonborn!" She turned at the new voice, and saw the three Nords Ysgramor had mentioned standing together. Gormlaith was waving her over to them, and Cry shook her head. Aduin. Right.

She jogged over to where they were, and Gormlaith grinned. "At long last!" she said. "Alduin's doom is now ours to seal. Just speak the word, and with high hearts we'll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks."

"Hold, comrades," Felldir advised. "Let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduins' mist is more than a snare. It's shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak." He looked around at them all. "But with four Voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

Hakon nodded in agreement. "Felldir speaks wisdom," he said. "The World-Eater, the coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe."

They all looked at Cry, then, and she swallowed, before she nodded. "Let's go get him," she said.

"To battle, my friends!" Gormlaith cheered, pulling out her weapon. "The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted!"

Hakon followed her lead, retrieving his own blade, and heading out the doors. Felldir lingered a moment, looking at Cry, who gazed back, uncertain as to what he was waiting for. Before she could ask, he pulled his greatsword off his back, and went after his companions. Cry followed, keeping her breathing steady.

They charged back across the Whalebone Bridge, passing by Tsun, who watched them impassively. "The eyes of Shor are upon you this day," he said. "Defeat Alduin, and destroy his soul-snare."

They formed an arc before the flat ground at the bottom of the hill, each holding their weapon. Felldir studied the sky, eyes narrowed. "We cannot fight the foe in this mist!"

"Clear Skies," Gormlaith declared. "Combine our Shouts!"

"After you, Dragonborn," Hakon said.

Cry nodded, and focused her gaze on the sky, so that the Shout would go that direction. _"Lok… Vah Koor!"_

Immediately, the three Nordic heroes Shouted as one with her, and the force of all four of their Voices cleared the mist away. Cry's shoulders relaxed for a moment, until the earth shook as Alduin's Voice came back once the echoes of their own had ended.

_"Ven Mul Riik!"_

Gormlaith cursed, and gripped her weapon tighter. "Again!"

_"Lok… Vah Koor!"_

The mist cleared once more, and this time, there was a longer pause, before Alduin's Shout forced it to return.

"Does his strength have no end?" Hakon demanded. "Is our struggle in vain?"

"Stand fast," Gormlaith advised. "His strength is failing. Once more, and his will might be broken!"

"One more time, and the World-Eater must face us," Felldir agreed.

Cry licked her lips, and focused again on the sky. She could feel her dragon blood pulsing in her veins, filling her with an unnatural power as she let loose her Thu'um one final time, the Nordic heroes around her harmonizing with her. _"Lok… Vah Koor!"_

The mist evaporated rapidly, dispelling completely from the air around them. The sky cleared. Cry found herself stunned by its beauty. At least, until she was drawn back to the present, by the sound of a nearing dragon.

"Stand together, as we shall defeat him," Felldir declared, as they all focused on Alduin.

"No escape this time, foul worm!" Gormlaith taunted up at him as the dragon swooped through the air just above their heads.

"Stand fast," Hakon said. "The fell worm's death is ours at last, the light returns!"

Alduin twisted around and hovered in front of the four of them, red eyes narrowed. "_Nust wo ni qilaan fen kos duuan,"_ he growled.

"For Skyrim!" Gormlaith shouted. "For Shor! For Sovngarde's freedom!"

She charged forward, narrowly missing a direct hit against Alduin's rear legs as the dragon rose into the air again, out of reach. He roared, circling above them. Hakon cursed.

"Nowhere to hide!" he exclaimed. "Hunter becomes prey!"

"You are persistent, _Dovahkiin,"_ Cry heard Alduin said, above the crackling of lightning and the booming of thunder that had become the backdrop of the confrontation. She lowered her greatsword, gazing up at the dragon. _"Pruzeh ol aar._ A fine slave you would have made."

"Absolutely not!" Cry spat, and Shouted up at him: _"Joor… Zah Frul!"_

The Thu'um hit Alduin, and the dragon twisted, the snare removing the immortality that made all dragons capable of flight.

"An excellent use of Dragonrend!" Gormlaith said, as Alduin landed on the ground in front of them, tail lashing. "Let us end this!"

All four of them charged forwards, centering on different areas of the dragon for attack. Cry went directly for his neck, knowing that they'd only be able to fully defeat him by hitting him in the same place that the killing blow was best dealt in all living creatures: the base of the skull.

While Alduin was distracted by the other three Nords, who focused on attacking his wings to keep him from flight, Cry clambered up onto his back. Alduin thrashed, sensing her plan, and roared angrily when she stuck her sword in between his scales, holding tight to it.

"Mortals!" Alduin cried. "You have no chance in defeating me! I am inevitable!"

"And I am Dragonborn," Cry muttered, pulling her sword free again, and racing up his back for his neck. Before Alduin could react further, she sank her blade into the soft leather there, as deep as it would go.

Immediately, light exploded from within Alduin, and Cry was knocked off of him from the force of it. She landed on the ground, hard, her back hitting a stone. Her vision went dark for a moment. When it returned, she was faced with the blinding vision that was Alduin as his very soul was ripped apart from the inside.

_"Zu'u unslaad!"_ he cried. _"Zu'u nis oblaan!"_

As with all the other dragons she'd defeated, Alduin's scales and flesh was tearing off of him, evaporating into the air. Cry watched, barely conscious, as the dragon's soul was sucked into the fabric of the universe. Alduin was able to release one final roar of hatred and despair, before all was quiet. The only thing that remained in the place where Alduin had been was her greatsword, the steel blade charred black.

"We did it," Cry realized, her voice loud in the silence. She forced herself to her knees, and looked around, amazed. "We did it."

"Our greatest foe, finally defeated," Felldir agreed. She noticed that all of the other Nords had been forced backwards during Alduin's demise, but they were now moving forward again, to the center of the battlefield. Hakon approached, holding his hand down to her. Cry accepted the help, letting him haul her to her feet.

"Masterful strategy, Dragonborn," he said to her.

"Thanks," Cry said, rubbing the back of her head. "I always told my companion that that's the best way to kill a dragon."

Tsun approached, then, drawn away from his post by the defeat. "This was a mighty deed!" he said. "The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor' Hall forever."

"All hail the Dragonborn!" Gormlaith exclaimed. "Hail her with great praise!"

"Hail her with great praise!" Hakon echoed. Cry glanced at Felldir, and smiled when the older Nord dipped his head to her in a sign of respect.

"Dragonborn." She turned once more to Tsun. "Your fate lies elsewhere," he said, and when Cry cocked her head to the side, he gestured towards the Hall of Valor. "When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting."

Cry blinked. "You mean… you mean that I'm allowed to return to Skyrim?" she asked.

"It is where you belong," Tsun replied. "You have not yet passed from the mortal realm into our own as the spirit of a fallen physical form."

Cry let out a breath, the wave of relief that flooded over her heavy. She bowed her head, and reached up to rub at her eyes with her hands. She couldn't begin to describe how grateful she was to hear that she had no choice but to return to Skyrim.

Still, though. She felt as though she had one last thing to do.

She looked at Tsun. "I need to do something, before I can return," she said.

Tsun nodded in understanding. "I will await for you here," he replied. "But remember that the land of the dead is not meant for mortals to linger."

Cry turned and hurried back up the path that she'd followed to Shor's Hall. She was unsurprised to find Kodlak close to where she'd left him, although he was already looking much better than he had. He smiled at her as she approached.

"You have completed your task," he said.

"I have," she said. "And I need to return to Skyrim, soon, but I wanted to make sure that you were going to be all right."

Kodlak merely smiled a bit more brightly. "I hear your heart beat like the Harbingers of old," he said. "Your glories in Skyrim are seen and honored." He reached out, and set a ghostly hand on her shoulder. "I will await the day when you can join me in battle in Hircine's Hunting Grounds. Until then, Shield-Sister, lead well, and love well."

Cry let out a quiet laugh, and nodded in agreement. "I will," she said. "Thank you."

"Shor guide you," Kodlak said, and he walked away. Cry stood where she was for a moment longer, before she exhaled, and turned, to head back to Tsun, and thus, back to Skyrim.

* * *

The return to Tamriel was much less pleasant than her entrance to Sovngarde. Cry found herself landing in a snow drift, dazed. It didn't take her long to recognize where exactly she was, and she shouldn't have been surprised to find that it was the top of the Throat of the World.

All around her, perched on rocks, or hovered above, Shouting into the air, and chanting. Cry could only catch some bits and pieces of it: for the most part, they simply seemed to be exclaiming what she already knew. Alduin was dead, she had slain him, and now they were all freed.

She watched as they disappeared through the heavy clouds around the peak of the mountain, and turned at the sound of one landing in the snow nearby. She recognized him to be Paarthurnax, who nodded to her.

"So, it is done," he said. "Alduin _dilon._ The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been."

Cry frowned. "You don't sound very happy about it."

"Happy?" Paathurnax exhaled. "No, I am not happy. _Zeymahi lost ont du'ul Bormahu._ Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh's creation. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his _pahlok…_ the arrogance of his power."

Cry lifted her shoulders. "I was only fulfilling my destiny as Dragonborn," she said. "The world is a better place without him, or the threat he posed."

"I am glad you believe that," Paarthunax said. "At least it will continue to exist. _Grik los lein._ Even I cannot see past Time's ending to what comes next. _Niid koraav zeim dinoksetiid._ We must do the best we can with this world."

Cry nodded in agreement. It was the same thing almost everyone concluded, at one point or another; it was best to do what you could while you had the chance. Cry aimed to do just that.

"You have won a mighty victory," Paarthunax went on. "_Sahrot krongrah_ \- it will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph, _Dovahkiin._ This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time."

With that, Paarthurnax took to the sky again, circling above her a few times to gain altitude. _"Goraan!"_ he said. "I feel younger than I have in many an age!"

Cry watched as he swooped a bit, so that he could address her one final time. "Many of the _dovahhe_ are now scattered across _Keizaal._ Without Alduin's lordship, they may yet bow to the rightness of my Thu'um. But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, _Dovahkiin!"_

Paarthurnax turned, and disappeared through the clouds, just as all the other dragons had. Cry watched him go, a small smile on her face. Before she could head for the path leading down the mountain, however, another dragon landed in the snow nearby. She was unsurprised to see that it was Odahviing, this time.

_"Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein,"_ he said. "I wish the old one luck in his… quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin's lordship for Paarthurnax's "Way of the Voice."" He shook his great head. "As for myself, you've proven your mastery twice over. _Thuri, Dovahkiin._ I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu'um. _Zu'u_ Odahviing." He dipped his head to her. "Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can."

"Thank you, Odahviing," Cry said, and then stepped back as he rose into the air once more, and disappeared as well. With that, the power of having all those dragons nearby faded, and Cry let her shoulders fall. She smiled again, and glanced around, relieved. She was home.

She had a stop to make, before she could return to Jorrvaskr, and since she was on the mountain anyway, she saw no reason to waste her visit.

She entered through the rear entrance of High Hrothgar, glancing around for Arngeir. He found her, first, clearly having been aware of the presence of all the dragons over the peak of the mountain.

"I can see it in your eyes," he said. "You've seen the land of the gods and returned." Cry nodded. "Does this mean… it is done? Is Alduin truly defeated?"

Cry let out a laugh, and raised her shoulders. "As dead as I can make him, I suppose," she said.

"Then it is done," Arngeir said. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Perhaps it was all worth it, in the end." He opened them again, and looked at her, before dipping his head. "You've shown yourself mighty, in both Voice and deed. In order to defeat Alduin, you've gained mastery of dreadful weapons. Now it is up to you to decide what to do with your power and skill. Will you be a hero whose name is remembered in song throughout the ages? Or will your name be a curse to future generations? Or will your memory fade from history, unremembered?"

Cry didn't think she liked the idea of the last one.

"Let the Way of the Voice be your guide, and the path of wisdom will be clear to you." Arngeir smiled a bit. "Breathe and focus, Dragonborn. Your future lies before you."

Cry had a feeling that he was absolutely right.

Before leaving Ivarstead, she drafted a letter for Delphine and Esbern, and sent it off with a courier. The last thing she wanted to do was make the entire journey across Skyrim just to tell them that Alduin was dead. If they wanted to see her in person, they would say so in their response, if they even sent one. She did not expect them to.

That done, she wasted no time in heading for home.


	43. Chapter 41: Home Again

It was dark by the time she reached Whiterun. The main gates were closed, but the guard standing near them willingly enough let her through, when he recognized her. News had not yet reached the city, she knew, because he seemed alarmed by her presence.

"You have already returned!" he said, amazed. "Does this mean that the World-Eater is dead?"

Cry nodded. "I defeated him."

The guard shook his head. "You truly are among the greatest warriors of our time," he said, awed, and then he opened the gate for her.

Cry walked through the quiet streets of Whiterun, glad that she wouldn't have to deal with a wide group of people coming up to ask her questions, or to praise her for a job well done, a destiny well fulfilled. She only wished to reach Jorrvaskr, her Companions, the place she knew she belonged.

She climbed the steps leading up to the building, but hesitated just before passing through the doors into the mead hall. Something inside of her was whispering that she should go to the training yard instead.

Deciding to listen to her instincts, she walked around Jorrvaskr, to the training yard behind it, and paused when she spotted a figure standing on the overlook, gazing out across the plains.

No. He was looking up at the stars.

Cry smiled, and walked across the training yard, towards the overlook, towards Vilkas.

He heard her approach, of course, and he spun around to face her. Cry paused several steps away, and met his gaze. She held out her arms.

"I came back," she said. "Just like I said I would."

Vilkas let out a hoarse chuckle. "I see that," he said. "It - I'm glad."

"Are you?" Cry asked, cheekily, and Vilkas's shoulders fell, as he rolled his eyes. Gods, Cry was so grateful for such a familiar sight.

"Yes," he said, flatly. He then looked at her again, and Cry saw the exact moment his breathing hitched, and knew that tears could not be far off. She felt her own throat tighten, just from the idea, and she quickly closed the space that remained between the two of them, jumping up slightly so that she could wrap her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. Vilkas caught her around the waist, holding her close, inhaling shakily.

"Thank the Divines," he murmured, pressing his face into her hair. "I feared that you would not return, and I was trying to decide how I would deal with that. I'm glad to know that I do not have to."

Cry laughed in response, and after a moment, Vilkas set her back down on the ground. He reached up, brushing some hair out of her eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked, softly. "Were you hurt? How did it go?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I was kind of hurt, but I think coming back fixed me, so it's all right. And… I mean, I beat him, so I'd say it went pretty well."

Vilkas smiled, and cupped her face in his hands, leaning down to kiss her. Cry closed her eyes, sighing appreciatively. Vilkas pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his own eyes closed.

"It's good to have you home."

"It's good to be home," Cry replied. She tilted her head, so that their lips would meet again, and then she went back to hugging him, glad to be in his arms. "I love you."

She heard Vilkas's smile through his words: "I love you, too. I must be the luckiest man in the world, to have earned the affections of the mighty Dragonborn."

Cry snorted, lightly. "I doubt you'll be so grateful when I tell you what I have in mind, in relation to that," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked, and Cry shook her head, pulling back to look at him.

"We can talk more in the morning," she. "For now, I just want to sleep."

Vilkas studied her for a moment, before he nodded. "Fair enough," he said. He took her hand, and led her off of the overlook. "Let's sleep, as best we can. We have plenty of time to talk later on."

Cry let her shoulders relax. Time. They had time.

* * *

She actually slept much later than she'd thought she would, given her beast blood. By the time she awoke, she knew that the sun had been up for hours. She was a little upset to find that the place in bed next to her was empty, although when she reached over to touch it, she found that it was still warm, as though the person who'd laid there had only recently left it.

She inhaled, and curled up around her pillow, let out a long, content breath. She heard the door of her private room open, but didn't move as a weight settled down again in bed beside her.

"Where'd you go?" she queried instead.

"Mm, I was hungry," Vilkas responded. She realized that she could in fact smell food, and she rolled over, eyes still closed, mouth open. Vilkas chuckled, but all the same she tasted fried meat on her tongue, and she hummed happily, chewing and swallowing.

"I'm not going to feed you my food," Vilkas said, when she opened her mouth for more.

Cry hummed sadly. "But I'm the savior of the world," she said.

Vilkas sighed. "How many times are you going to use _that?"_

"As many times as I can," Cry replied, honestly. She opened her eyes, wanting to see him, and smiled. "Good morning."

"Afternoon, actually," Vilkas said. "Close to two."

"Really?" Cry huffed a little. "Shit."

"I said the same thing," Vilkas agreed. "No one seems to be missing us, however, although everyone is very excited to greet you, and sing your praises."

"I bet," Cry said. She sighed, and stretched, luxuriously. "They can wait a bit longer."

"Here," Vilkas said, holding out a slice of bread towards her. "Eat. I can only imagine you haven't since you left."

He was right. Cry accepted the bread, glad to note it was buttered, and took a bite out of it, gazing up at the ceiling as she chewed.

"So," Vilkas began, "are you going to tell me about it?"

"About what?" she asked, taking another bite of bread.

"Sovngarde."

"Oh." Cry shrugged. "I don't… maybe later. I don't think I want to relive it so soon, you know?"

"Yes," Vilkas said after a moment. "I understand."

"Thank you," Cry said. "I did see Kodlak again."

"Is he all right?" Vilkas asked, and she nodded. "Good."

"And, I met Ysgramor."

Vilkas snorted. "No."

"I did," Cry insisted. "He greeted me as Harbinger and everything, it was great." She smiled teasingly, turning her head to look at Vilkas. "He was actually quite handsome."

Vilkas looked down at her, an eyebrow raised, and she giggled, flipping over onto her stomach again. "He was," she said.

"I'm sure," Vilkas agreed, and he took another bite of food. "What about your new plan, that you mentioned last night?"

Cry was silent for a moment as she phrased the way she wanted to propose the idea to him. She decided to just say it as simply as she could: "I want to go around to other cities and towns in Skyrim, and teach the guards there how to fight dragons, and kill them as best as they can."

Vilkas did not respond, and she turned her head so that she could see him. Vilkas was gazing down at his tray of food, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"It's a good idea," he said at last, "smart, but… it sounds as though it is going to be… time intensive."

"It will be," Cry agreed. "I think the best way for me to do it is accept jobs in different areas around Skyrim that get me close to a new city or town every time, and while I'm out on jobs, I can teach the guards, too."

"Hm." Vilkas took a bite of food. "Makes sense to me, I suppose. You've thought this through."

Cry nodded. "I've been thinking about it, for a while," she admitted. "Even with Alduin gone, there are still dragons around, and it's in their nature to attack areas of civilization. I want to do what I can to make sure those areas are prepared in case a dragon does attack."

"And you intend to do this on your own?" he asked after a moment.

"Well." Cry sat up, and looked at him. "I can, but I'd be grateful for help, too."

Vilkas glanced over at her. "You'll be away a lot," he said.

"Yes," Cry agreed.

"I'd rather not be separated from you."

"I feel the same," Cry said.

The corner of Vilkas's mouth raised in a smile. "Then I suppose I'll have to come with you," he said.

Cry grinned back, and leaned towards him. "I think that's a great plan," she said.

Vilkas leaned in the rest of the way, and kissed her, lightly. They broke apart, however, when there was a knock on the door. Vilkas sighed, turning back to his food, and Cry smiled a bit, looking at the door.

"Come on in," she invited.

It opened, revealing Farkas on the other side. He grinned, seeing her. "You are back!" he said. "That's good!"

"Hello, Farkas," Cry replied.

Farkas entered the room, moving around the bed to her side. He sank down in a chair there with a heavy sigh. "I'm glad you're home," he said. "Vilkas was miserable the whole time you were gone."

Cry furrowed her brow. "I couldn't have been gone longer than a day," she said, glancing between the two of them.

"Two, actually," Vilkas said. "You flew off on the morning of the 13th of Sun's Dusk, and came back late at night on the 15th."

Cry frowned. "Huh," she said. "I suppose time moves differently in Sovngarde."

"So you actually went there?" Farkas asked, and she nodded. "What was it like?"

"Dark, until Alduin was defeated," Cry said, considering, "and then… light."

It wasn't very descriptive, but Farkas seemed content by the explanation all the same. He leaned back in his chair, as Aela appeared in the doorway of the room.

"Welcome back, Harbinger," she said, and Cry smiled at her. "I'm glad to know that you've returned safely."

"Thank you, Aela."

The huntress gestured over her shoulder. "There's a hoard of townspeople outside of Jorrvaskr," she said. "Do you want me to send them away?"

Cry was silent for a moment as she debated the idea. Reasonably, she thought, she could have Aela make everyone go home. She _was_ the savior of the world, after all.

At the same time, however, she felt as though she needed to make some kind of statement. The easiest way to get news to spread, truthful news, was if the main source was herself.

"No," she said, and she moved to the edge of the bed, stretching her arms over her head. "I'll speak to them."

Aela nodded in agreement, and Cry looked pointedly at Farkas, who got the hint. He stood, and followed Aela from the room, the door closing behind them again. Cry moved to pull her armor on, deciding that was the best look for the Dragonborn to wear as she addressed people.

Vilkas watched her get dressed. "Do you want me to stand with you?" he asked her. Cry looked over at him as she did up one of the buckles on her armor.

"You don't need to," she said. "I can face a crowd. I'd rather them hear it from me, than someone with false information."

Vilkas nodded in understanding, and Cry finished with her armor. She sat back down on the edge of the bed to pull on her boots. She felt Vilkas move behind her, and then he was slipping his arms around her waist, pressing a kiss to her neck. Cry smiled a bit.

"I have Dragonborn things to do," she reminded him, lightly.

"I know," he said, "but you must remember that I was fearful I'd never see you again, let alone be able to feel your skin."

Cry shivered a little as his scruff scratched across her skin. She turned her head to look at him. "I'll be right back," she assured, and placed a kiss on his lips before standing, moving away from him. She headed out the doors of her room, and down the living quarters hallway to the stairs.

At the top, in the mead hall, she was greeted cheerfully by Athis and Njada, who were sitting at one of the tables in the corner of the room. Cry grinned at them, dipping her head, recalling her first time in Jorrvaskr, when she'd walked in on the two of them brawling.

She crossed the mead hall, to the front doors of Jorrvaskr, and pulled one open, stepping outside.

Immediately, she was greeted with calls of, "Dragonborn!" She let the crowd go for a minute, before she put up her hands, silently asking for quiet. They responded pretty quickly. Aela was right; most of the town was gathered at the bottom of the stairs leading up to Jorrvaskr.

"People of Whiterun," she began, "good afternoon. As you can see, I have returned from my journey to defeat Alduin, which, as I'm sure you can guess, means that the World-Eater has been defeated."

Cheers erupted from the gathered group, and Cry smiled. Joy, and relief, and gratefulness. All of these emotions were heard in those cheers.

"Spread the word!" she called. "Send news to friends and family all over Skyrim, so that everyone will know that Alduin is no longer a threat!" She hesitated, and then said, "However, just because Alduin has been vanquished does not mean that Skyrim is completely free of the threat of dragons. It is my intention to journey around the country as soon as I am able, to teach the guards in every city and town how best to fight a dragon, so that if one were to attack, there would be a plan in place to defeat it."

More cheering. People like her plan. She'd assumed they would.

"I'm glad to have fulfilled my destiny as Dragonborn, for the sake of Skyrim," she went on. "I thank Jarl Balgruuf and the Whiterun guard for the support they showed in the final steps to help me do so, and I hope that I can continue to do what I can in relation to the dragons as time passes. Thank you."

Chanting rose up behind her as she turned to re-enter Jorrvaskr, and she had to smile to herself. "Dragonborn! Dragonborn! Dragonborn!"

She let the door fall closed behind her, and she leaned back against it for a moment, letting out a slow breath, before she remembered that Vilkas was waiting for her.

She grinned, and headed back towards the stairs, to return to him.


	44. Chapter 42: Reaching Conclusions

"All right, I think that's enough for today," Cry said, sliding her greatsword into its scabbard. It was new; Eorlund had made it for her, free of charge, after she'd handed him the one she'd used in the fight against Alduin, and he'd quietly said, "Oh, no."

She smiled at the group of guards she'd been training with. "You all made good progress today," she said. "Remember, the biggest thing about fighting a dragon is to make sure it can't get back up into the air again, once you ground it the first time. If you get rid of its ability to fly, it becomes just another wild animal, like a bear or a sabrecat." She nodded to them. "Have a good evening. I'll be here until midday tomorrow, if you have more questions."

The guards walked off, talking among themselves about the techniques she'd showed them. Cry watched them go, before she exhaled, and headed towards the inn.

She'd take a job near Solitude, which was convenient, considering she'd gotten a letter from the Jarl's steward Falk Firebeard about a task that he thought the Dragonborn would be suited to accomplishing. She was going to set out on that the following day. For tonight, she was going to sleep in a bed in the inn at Dragon's Bridge, and be happy that she'd covered one more town guard in her training program.

As she walked into the inn, she caught sight of Vilkas immediately. He was seated by the fire, a book in hand, an empty plate on the table next to his chair. She smiled to herself, and went over to him, bending down to press a kiss to the top of his head.

"How'd it go?" he asked, glancing up from his book.

Cry sank down in a chair across from his with a shrug, setting her scabbard down beside said chair. "Fine," she said. "I wish I had more than a day to work with them, but… considering that all I have is a day, every time, I think I cover as much as I can."

Vilkas hummed, and the innkeeper, Faida, approached. "Anything to eat, Dragonborn?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. "Long day of training must've left you hungry."

Cry smiled up at her. "Whatever's hot, Faida," she said. "Thank you."

The innkeeper nodded, and walked away again, back to the counter. Cry turned her attention once more to Vilkas, who was watching her, still, smiling himself.

"What?" Cry asked him, amused.

He shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "I just love you."

Cry's smile softened. "I love you too," she replied. "Thank you for coming with me."

Vilkas reached across the space between their chairs, and took her hand. "Of course," he said. "What's a husband for, aside from supporting his wife in her endeavors?"

"Is it really that fun to say, still?" she asked him, and Vilkas smirked, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles.

"I'm never going to get over it," he said. "Wife."

Cry grinned at him. "You're the sappiest person I've ever met, husband," she said, and withdrew her hand as Faida returned with a plate of food. Cry tried to pass her a few coins, but Faida shook her head.

"You overpaid for your room," she said. "I can't accept your gold for a single meal." She handed Cry the plate, and walked off again. Cry looked down at her food for a moment, before glancing up at Vilkas.

"We didn't overpay for our room," she said, and he shook his head. Cry sighed, and picked up the fork Faida had brought her. "Remind me to leave some coin for her tomorrow, before we leave."

"Are you still planning on taking the job from Falk Firebeard?" Vilkas asked her, and Cry nodded, swallowing the bite of food she'd taken. "With… the intentions of -"

Cry sighed a little. "I know that you're still not happy with my decision to try and become the thane of every hold," she said to him, "but I really do think it's important to have a housecarl in every major city, one who can keep an eye on things for me."

"That shouldn't be your job, love," Vilkas said, gently.

"I know," Cry said, "and maybe when the war is done, and the jarls are able to focus on their holds, the way they should be, I won't have to worry about it." She toyed with her fork. "But I'm worried that the war is going to last much longer than we'd all like to think."

"What about Kodlak?" Vilkas prompted, and Cry glanced up at him. "Have you… seen him, again?"

The month prior, Kodlak had made an appearance in one of Cry's dreams. She'd seen him racing through a darkened wood, holding a battleaxe, while the sound of wolves' howls drowned out all other noise in the dream itself. She hadn't been able to speak to Kodlak, hadn't even felt as though she were present within the dream itself, but she knew it had to mean that Kodlak had begun his war with Hircine. It was only a matter of time before she was called to it herself.

"I haven't," she admitted, "but I'm hoping he stays away long enough for me to finish my current task."

"Just the Reach left," Vilkas pointed out. "Odd to realize that, isn't it? We've only been at this for a few months, and already we've made so much progress."

"I'm glad," Cry said, and she was. The quicker they trained all of the guards, the quicker she could relax about the possible threat of dragons attacking a city that she could not get to in time to help. She was already much more relaxed than she had been when they'd first set out on this task, starting in Riften and moving across Skyrim to each new city or town that they could reach, when a Companions job waited a respectable distance away. Somehow, in the process, she and Vilkas had found time to get married. It had been the best part of the past several months.

She finished her food (she _had_ been hungry), and placed the plate onto the table on top of Vilkas's. "I'm going to our room," she said to him, standing. "I'm exhausted."

"I bet," Vilkas agreed. "I'll be in soon. I just want to finish this section."

"All right," Cry said, and she walked away from him, heading into the room that they'd rented for the past two days. She pulled off her armor, wishing that she could take a bath. She doubted the Four Shields Tavern had that kind of luxury, however, so she settled for the washbowl on the table in the corner of the room, and the rag resting beside it. She doused off her arms and her face, figuring that was as close as she was probably going to get to clean.

She then settled down on the bed with a sigh, having pulled on a cleaner tunic to sleep in. She curled up under the blanket, but knew that she wouldn't fall asleep while the sun was still setting right outside the window. She stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

She stayed that way for about a half-hour, at which time Vilkas entered the room. He shut the door behind him, and crossed over to the bed.

"I thought you would be asleep," he commented.

Cry shook her head. "The sun," she explained, waving a hand towards the window.

"Ah." Vilkas sank down onto his side of the bed with a heavy sigh. "I wish we were home."

Cry shifted, turning on her side away from him. "I know," she said, quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no," Vilkas said, soothingly. He turned around and leaned over the bed, scooting closer to her until he could slide his arms around her. "This is something I agreed to, because it's the right thing to do. I said that I'd see it through, and I will."

Cry let out a breath of air. "I know," she said. "I just… I feel like it's selfish of me, to have you come every time."

"It isn't," Vilkas said. He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, and held her tighter. "I love you, I'm married to you, and I want to be there for you." She felt him smile. "This is what I signed up for, falling in love with the Dragonborn, and the last thing you could ever be is selfish."

Cry rolled over in bed to face him. Vilkas let her, and they studied one another for a long moment, neither speaking. They didn't have to.

Eventually, Cry managed a smile, and kissed him properly. "Thank you," she said. "For being here, for helping me with this. I appreciate it, and you, so much."

"Of course," Vilkas murmured in response. "I'll always be here for you."

Cry nuzzled beneath his chin, content. They had so much to do, still, but that was the point, wasn't it? Doing what they could while they had the chance.

It was just part of life, and Cry was glad to have Vilkas at her side through it all. Maybe they'd rewritten the stars in order to get here, but who cared when it all worked out in the end?

She was grateful to know that the true end was far off in the distance, and that the time she had until then would be spent with him, and doing the things she felt as though she was meant for.

She was the Dragonborn. She was Harbinger of the Companions.

She'd found her purpose, and the love of her life.

She'd made it home, after being away for so long.

What more could she ask for?

* * *

***cue the Dragonborn theme***

**This was fun. I love this fuckin' universe. I'm gonna miss writing in it. **

**Peace out, guys. Thanks for sticking around. **


End file.
